


Familia: A Schibetta and Alvarez Story

by BlackRoseBlooms



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Drugged Sex, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Prison, Racist Language, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackRoseBlooms/pseuds/BlackRoseBlooms
Summary: When Alvarez is sexually assaulted McManus breaks protocol to find the culprit. As he investigates, Peter is released from the psych ward and develops a bond with Miguel. But the assailant is still out there and so are plenty of other enemies...
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez & Peter Schibetta
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	1. After The Riot

It was the second riot Em City had seen in four years. Though not nearly as bad as its predecessor (no lives had been lost this time) the act of rebellion still caused enough damage on the unit. Miguel Alvarez for instance had been found unconscious in the laundry room with his pants around his ankles. Though bleeding had been minimal, Murphy, the CO who'd found him had noticed semen around his buttocks thighs.

"We'll keep this between us," McManus decided when he'd been alerted.

"Miguel's been having a rough time readjusting to life outside of solitary. I'd hate for the other inmates to harass him."

Murphy nodded, well aware of the kid's struggles since his return. He'd once been a part of the Latino gang but they seemed to have cast him out when Hernandez had arrived and taken over the operation. Now that Hernandez was dead and Morales was the new head, they still didn't seem to want Miguel.

"Where is he now?" McManus asked.

"I took him to the infirmary myself. He doesn't seem to remember what happened though. Just says he got clocked behind the head and woke up to me shaking him."

McManus raised a brow suspiciously.

"You believe him?"

He wouldn't be the first inmate to play that card, try to pretend like nothing happened. Peter Schibetta had told the same story when he'd been raped by Adebesi. But the evidence had been too overwhelming to deny it.

"You know Alvarez," Murphy noted.

"Not exactly the most stable mind but easy to read. I think if he knew what had happened he'd be losing his shit."

McManus had to agree. He'd been trying to help the young con with his rehabilitation, offering him a spot in Em City, talking with him about his progress. Miguel seemed intent on turning himself around this time. As long as the Latinos left their cast-off alone he should be fine.

"You said there was almost no blood?"  
Murphy nodded.

"Just a little bit. On the back of his thigh. Whoever did it wasn't too brutal. If that makes sense."

In Oz it did. Just ask Schibetta. The two surveyed the now empty unit with appraising eyes. The damage was minimal. Just a few broken tables, chairs. Inmate injuries were non-critical. They still weren't sure how it started but McManus was going to find out.

"I'll go talk to Sister Pete," he commented.

"Miguel will need her counseling. And Father Mukada as well. Other than that no one gets word of this, okay? Not even the other COs."

Murphy nodded his compliance. He knew his coworkers held no love for the Latino loner. In fact a few would revel in his misfortune. Considering what he'd done to one of their own, who could blame them?

"What about Dr. Nathan? I already took him. She's examining him as we speak."

His best friend didn't seem too bothered.

"She's trustworthy. But I can talk to her too."

Murphy glanced back at the scene of the crime, thoughtful.

"You really think we can keep a lid on this, Tim?" he asked.

"I mean, even if we keep it quiet on our part, the inmate that did it is going to brag. It'll get out."  
McManus considered it.

"Then that'll make it easier to catch him. But what I don't want is for things to get harder for Miguel right now. We'll talk later though. I'm going to catch up with Dr. Nathan."

Murphy watched his friend and Unit Manager as he passed through the gates, still thoughtful of the Alvarez situation. It looked like Tim had found him another pet project. He hoped this one wouldn't end in disappointment like the others.

* * *

Alvarez was lying in the infirmary, a vacant look in his eye. A few other inmates glanced his way curiously, all had been knocked around during the riot but none knew the extent of his injuries. He'd only let on about the knot in the back of his head. It was all he remembered. Murphy had woken him, asking him what happened and who "did this" to him. It was as he'd try to get up that he'd noticed the sting in his ass. The sticky feeling down his thighs. His pants around his ankles. But his head had hurt too bad for it all to register.

Now it did and it was taking everything in him not to leap from the bed and scream. He'd been shanked three times, beaten, starved and made to drink his own piss but never had he taken it up the ass. Not from anyone.

He was no fucking fag.

But without the protection of _El Norte_ the sharks had begun to circle. His crazy rep had held them off for a bit but obviously that was off. Someone had gotten to him. He just hoped that word didn't spread.

But of course it would. It always did. He used to work in the infirmary, he'd been guilty of spreading it a few times himself. Peter Schibetta came to mind. Forever crowned as Adebesi's bitch. That shit had been brutal. It had followed him even when the Aryans had gang-raped him. Once a prag you were everyone's prag. But after a private examination Dr. Nathan hadn't found much bleeding or even tearing so he'd need no stitches. The culprit, whoever he was, had applied a liberal amount of lubricant. Which told him that other than the awkward sting he should be okay.

Except now he'd been made somebody's bitch and he had no idea who.

"Miguel, can I see you for a minute?"

He climbed out of bed and followed Dr. Nathan to her office. Along the way he passed a few familiar faces but no one taunted him. So far the secret was still safe. Inside her office he was surprised to find McManus standing by the desk. Dr. Nathan shut the door behind them before signaling for Miguel to take a seat. His ass still stung but not enough to prevent him from saving face.

"Miguel," she began in that sympathetic tone she took when delivering bad news.

She was nicer than that dude doctor. Old white fart. And easier on the eyes.

"Are you sure you don't remember what happened? Anything at all? Maybe someone entering the laundry room after you?"

He shook his head, nothing coming to mind. He just remembered doing his laundry.

"I want you to know that we're keeping this quiet," McManus assured him.

"The only people who know are me, Dr. Nathan, obviously CO Murphy, Sister Pete and Father Mukada. No one else—CO or otherwise has a clue. Not even the warden."

The first thankful moment in the entire fucked up day hit him and Miguel almost teared. Warden Glenn was just about the last person he wanted to know about this. After the way he'd treated him when his daughter had been raped by Latinos …he'd had it in for any inmate with brown skin and Miguel had fit the bill.

"I umm…" he didn't know what to say.  
Dr. Nathan spoke softly.

"In the meantime we're going to have to test you for the usual. You already know the drill. then again in three months. Just to be sure you're clean."

His heart skipped nervously at the reality of her statement. He swallowed.

"You, umm, you don't think I got AIDS do you?"

That was worse than being shanked. He'd die a slow fag's death. And everyone would know. McManus cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Dr. Nathan spoke slowly.

"Miguel…whoever did this to you didn't use a condom. The amount of semen we found suggests that he ejaculated multiple times—"

Inside him? Fuck! The idea of some bastard having fun, cumming inside him was enough to make him sick. His hands began to shake, his head swam and suddenly he felt the urge to hurl. McManus seemed to notice and quickly grabbed the wastebasket from behind the desk.

Miguel snatched it and lost his entire stomach's contents immediately. He hovered, retching even when there was nothing left to lose until finally he was able to set the basket down and shudder. McManus handed him some tissue and he wiped his mouth. His hands, just as everything inside him, still shook.

"Miguel?" Dr. Nathan.

He couldn't face her. Or anyone suddenly. So he stared at the far wall.

"I'm not a fucking _maricón_ ," he snapped.

"I don't..."

Take it up the ass. Except he had. Apparently multiple times. Like a bitch. He was nobody's bitch!

"Hey, we know you didn't ask for this," McManus was closer now but thankfully didn't touch him.

He couldn't deal with another man's touch at the moment.

"We're going to do everything we can to find this guy and to keep it under wraps. Nobody is going to know, Miguel. Okay?"

He still couldn't look at him or anyone for that matter. Miguel felt his eyes brimming with tears that he refused to allow them to see. He wouldn't cry. Not like some bitch. Shit, he'd already been made into a bitch.

"I have to check on some other patients," Dr. Nathan announced.

"I'll let you have some privacy okay Miguel?"

He nodded, still refusing to face her. But one of the tears had come down. He hoped she hadn't spotted it.

"Tim?"

McManus was hesitant to leave but perhaps realized that he needed to be alone.

"I'll be back later," he promised before leaving with Dr. Nathan.

Once alone Miguel bit into his fist, fighting the urge to scream. Instead he allowed his tears to violently fall, collapsing to the floor with the tide.


	2. Schibetta's Return

"Are you sure he's ready to come back? After all of the fallout over Adebesi? And the gang-rape?" McManus was asking doubtfully.

Sister Peter Marie stacked a few folders before placing them in her file cabinet.

"Peter seems to have recovered. It's been three years. Adebesi is no longer with us. And though he won't admit who gang-raped him, he assured me that they're not in Em City and that he's past it. I'm confident that he'll be able to make it. Just as long as he isn't re-triggered."

McManus didn't have to ask what she meant. After Miguel's rape and the lack of progress in the mystery she was less than pleased. Father Mukada had shared the same sentiment.

"I'm doing the best I can but you know the inmates. They're not talking. About anything to do with the riot. It's like it never happened."

Sister Pete gave him a skeptical look.

"Oh they're talking all right. Just not to us."

He sighed his frustration. He truly wanted to help Miguel, he could see a future for him. But the rape had set him back. He was more paranoid than ever, jumpy and as a result attracting the wrong kind of attention. As per Murphy's observation the sharks were circling. He'd promised to look out for him the best he could. But if Miguel didn't get his head together nothing Murphy did would matter. Predators saw weakness and preyed.

"Miguel doing any better in therapy?"

The sister sighed.

"His pride is wounded. His dignity is shattered but he's too proud to talk about it. Plus the fact that he doesn't know who raped him is eating at him. He doesn't trust anybody."

McManus wasn't happy to hear that. What could he do to help?

"I think it'd be a good idea to have him join my rape survivor support group."

McManus shook his head.

"He'll never do it. Word will get out and the other inmates will destroy him."

He didn't want that for Miguel. He'd worked so hard.

"Tim, I'm surprised to hear you say such a thing. And frankly I'm surprised at how you're handling this matter all together."

There was a trace of indignation in her tone. She was not happy with him.

"What? How so?" he honestly didn't understand.

Sister Pete met his eyes sternly.

"You and I both know that what helps a rape survivor is telling the story and alleviating the shame. You've encouraged Miguel to do the opposite. And this secrecy is hindering the investigation. How can you question a potential witness if there's no incident for them to have witnessed?"

He tried to explain.

"I just don't want to make things wose for Miguel. He's trying so hard, Pete."

She waved his answer off.

"He's falling apart, Tim. He won't open up to me and the only thing Mukada can get out of him is proclamations that he's not a—what's the word? _Maricón_. He needs help, Tim. And you're hindering that."

It was a slap in the face. The exact opposite of what he wanted but how could he express to her how important Miguel's rehabilitation was to him? How easily the other inmates could threaten that goal? He knew Alvarez. The second someone came at him he'd go nuts, get sent back to solitary and that was the end of him. McManus didn't want that. Couldn't have it.  
But Miguel needed someone he could talk to.

"I have an idea," he suddenly saw the light.

"Schibetta, he's due back in Em City tomorrow right? What if he and Miguel supported each other. As podmates?"

Before she could reply he pitched.

"Miguel knows what happened to Peter so he won't feel threatened by him. And after what happened to Miguel maybe he can relate to him better. As for Peter, the last person to give him problems would be Miguel."

It could work. He just knew it.

"Tim, Peter got better because he opened up in counseling, he went to the support group. He opened up finally about what happened. Miguel has done none of those things. How do you expect him to help Peter?"

McManus wasn't sure of the specifics but he felt that it could be done.

"They'll relate. It'll work. Trust me."

But when the sister's eyes narrowed suspiciously he knew he hadn't completely won her over.

"Why are you doing this Tim?" she probed in that way of hers.

"Why is Miguel Alvarez so important for you? To the point where you're breaking protocol, asking others to do so, and disregarding sound therapeutic advice to protect his rep?"

She always had a way of calling people out, causing them to call themselves out.

"I just care is all," he answered honestly.

"I want to help somebody change if just one inmate. I want to do some good."

She half nodded, obviously not satisfied with his answer. But he had to go. He was unit manager which meant he had things to do. The first of which being placing a new pod-mate for Miguel Alvarez.

* * *

His heart was racing through his throat giving a hint of nausea as he was escorted from the psych ward back to his original home. Em City. Peter Schibetta swallowed hard, already knowing what jeers would come his way the second he entered the gate. "Prag", "bitch", that dreaded "A" name.

_You can say it now. It holds no power over you._

Adebesi.

He'd heard the Nigerian had been killed by the Muslim leader, Kareem Said. Though it brought him relief, he couldn't help but to feel a ping of resentment that the Sicilians hadn't done him in. They hadn't avenged Peter or defended his honor. Not after Nappa died. His godfather—legit godfather not just by title. Only Nappa had cared. Pancamo had gone into business with the moolie.

He shook off the thoughts, the resentments toward Pancamo and braced himself mentally for the stares. The laughs. The threats. What if somebody wanted to follow in Adebesi's footsteps. Or worse. The Aryans. He shook off the thought.

_I'm not the same kid anymore. I'm stronger now. Older. Wiser. I'm a fucking Schibetta._

"Alright Schibetta, I'll take you to your pod."

He nodded, following the hack toward his new home. Sure enough people stared, some snickered. What remained of the Homeboys—Adebesi's old crew smirked his way. But the bikers, they were buddies with the Nazis, they leered. He could already feel them plotting. He couldn't show fear.

"Hey Petey!" Pancamo and the rest of his old crew seemed to be the only welcoming faces.

But even they didn't view him the same. He could see it. He was the lame duck, the weak kid brother they were forced to look after. He'd brought humiliation to their gang before. They were hoping he wouldn't do it again.

"Hey."

He exchanged greetings, the quick hug before Pancamo pulled him close.

"We'll look out for you. Don't worry about it."

Yea, because he'd done a bang up job with Adebesi. At least when the Aryans had gotten to him he couldn't blame Pancamo. He'd been holed up in the infirmary fighting a deadly staff infection. But the others? They'd abandoned him. Let him go it alone. Then Schillinger and his boys…no he'd gotten past that too.

"Move it, Schibetta. I got things to do," the hack urged him on."

He left his "familia" to follow after. They stopped at an upstairs pod and he found a familiar face inside. The former leader of the Latinos. Miguel Alvarez. He recalled a failed alliance attempt from the early days. He'd offered Miguel a partnership if he'd kill Adebesi. The spic had been smart enough to see how the conflict would effect his own gang but rude as hell when he'd told Peter to drop fucking dead.

Then like Peter he'd taken a fall, though not by the same means. He wasn't sure why he'd been ousted out but the crazy spic had cut out a CO's eyes, killed another member and escaped for a few months before being brought back. He'd also survived 3 shankings, over a year in solitary and multiple suicide attempts. In other words he was bat-shit crazy.

_He's my fucking roommate?_

But Alvarez wasn't known to deal in dick play so he felt a moderate amount of safety here.

"Why ain't I rooming with a Sicilian?" he demanded of the hack.

Despite their shame in him he still felt safer locked in a pod with one of his own.

Alvarez was watching him silently from his bunk, disbelief on his face.

"This ain't the Hilton, Schibetta. You go where you're assigned. Don't like it, cry to McManus."

The hack left him then to get acquainted with his new roomie. Peter gulped and made his way inside. Alvarez watched him warily.

"You got a problem?"

Peter shook his head, hiding his nerves.

"No. You?"

Alvarez shrugged.

"Nah."

He set his things on the empty top bunk. Neither said a word to the other. Alvarez was looking out the pod when suddenly he stood, shoved the door open and shouted.

"The fuck you looking at puta?"

Peter jumped, turned to see what the fuss was about. He saw Jaz Hoyt across the way smiling.

"The prag. You claiming him?"

Peter's face went red. God it was already starting. He tried to still his nerves before they betrayed his fear. He had to be strong. To show he still had balls.

"Aye, fuck you redneck!" he threw at him.

Jaz laughed out loud, coming closer to the door.

"Is that an offer, prag?"

Before Peter could think of a retort, Alvarez snapped. He flew out of the room like a cheetah and was on the biker swinging, spitting curses in Spanish and English.

"You want a prag? I'll show you a fucking prag!"

More Spanish obscenities. Peter just knew they were because what else would he be saying? In awe he watched as the lean Latino took the big man down off of sheer intensity alone. Hoyt was caught off guard, landing him on the ground but he was no cream puff and began to fight back. But by that time the hacks were pulling them apart. Alvarez was still screaming, full on Spanish now and the hacks had to clock him a few times to calm him.

"Take him to the fucking hole!"

Peter stared as the two were dragged off. He wasn't sure what he was feeling but it was something akin to gratitude. Maybe even admiration. No, that was pushing it. Miguel Alvarez had done in just minutes of rooming with him what his own people had failed to do. He'd defended him. Protected him. Beaten the shit out of Jaz Hoyt for him.

Where the fuck was Pancamo? Or the others? Not a one of them had come to his aid. But Alvarez had. And so fearlessly. The guy really was crazy. But Peter had the feeling he'd like his crazy.

* * *

"No, take him out," McManus ordered. "I don't want Alvarez in the hole. I'll deal with him."

LoPresti was outraged.

"But he attacked another inmate. He went loco in front of the whole unit. I sprained my wrist restraining that bastard. What do you mean you don't want him in the hole?"

McManus put his foot down.

"I mean I will deal with him. Murphy?"  
His best friend stepped into his office.

"Yea?"

"Get Alvarez from the hole will you?"

Murphy nodded and went on his way.

"What is wrong with you, McManus? You got a hard on for that little shit or something?" LoPresti snapped.

He glared up at his subordinate.

"You want to question my decisions? How about I question why the fuck you still work here after your negligence contributed to that riot? How about I question where the fuck you were when inmates took over the damn unit?"

LoPresti was speechless, too pissed or too shocked at being found out about something. At the moment, McManus didn't give a damn.

"Your wrist is so damn hurt then go home but get the fuck out of my office!"

The CO stormed off and McManus slammed his hand on his desk. No doubt Miguel's rape had been the reason he'd attacked Hoyt. Maybe Alvarez suspected that the biker was his rapist. He'd be sure to look into it. But he couldn't let the kid stew in the hole, that was for sure. Especially after what had happened to him. Miguel needed support and that was hopefully what Peter Schibetta would provide.

 _This will be good for him_ , Tim reminded himself.

_He'll recover. I just know it._


	3. Return for the Hole

When Murphy retrieved Miguel the Latino breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure why but he'd rather Murphy over any of the other hacks. Perhaps because he'd been so nice about finding him. Had it been LoPresti or—God forbid—Howell his business would've been all over the place. But Murphy was fair, he didn't treat people like shit just for the sake of it. And unlike McManus, he didn't try to feed the cons fairytales.

"McManus wants you back in Em City," Murphy told him as he dressed.

Miguel nodded, calmer after a couple of hours away. But he was thankful to go back. Solitude was something he'd had enough of.

"Alvarez, you got a reason you jumped Hoyt?"

He was fishing, probably trying to see if Hoyt was the one they were looking for. Miguel wished he knew.

"Do I need one in here?" he answered.

The truth was he hadn't been thinking when he'd attacked Hoyt. He'd just acted. Been compelled even.

_I'm nobody's fucking prag._

No he didn't go for that shit. And anybody who did…

_Could be the guy._

There were plenty of suspects. Ultimately everybody was a suspect with the exception of Hill and O'Reilly's retard brother. He'd have ruled out Beecher but the excess lube used revealed that the bastard hadn't wanted to tear him. Only somebody soft as Beecher would be so "kind."

"McManus is really pulling for you," Murphy told him on their way back to the unit.

"Stunts like today won't help your cause. You know that?"

Miguel shrugged.

"I did what I had to do."

Murphy sighed.

"Yeah well, just try to keep your head clean. And if you hear anything at all talk to me or McManus got it? Don't go messing up your chances on account of some prick."

He didn't have to ask what he'd be hearing "anything" about and he was grateful that Murphy spoke with such privacy.

"Yea. Got it."

They returned to curious and incredulous stares from inmates and COs alike. Murphy gestured toward McManus's office and Miguel complied. Once inside he took a seat. The boss man waited for Murphy to close the door behind himself before speaking.

"Miguel, you okay?"

He shrugged. Was anyone ever okay in Oz?

"Well," McManus seemed to recognize that he wasn't in a talkative mood.

"Jaz Hoyt. Was he the one who assaulted you? is that why you attacked him today?"

He shifted uncomfortably at the wording but no one was there except McManus and Murphy and they already knew.

"I don't know."

He glanced down at his fingernails, unsure.

"He was talking shit so I had to shut him down. Scaring my roommate."

"Right, Peter Schibetta. How are you two getting along?"

They'd barely interacted.

"I don't think he cares for me. Rather room with the wops."

He didn't care either way. McManus cleared his throat.

"I think if you two gave each other a chance you might get along," he suggested.

"You have a few things in common, you know."

A flash of anger suddenly struck him at the comparison and he jumped from his seat.

"I'm nothing like him! I ain't no fucking prag!"

Murphy had moved in but McManus shook his head to stop him. He sighed, looking up from his seated position with an expression of patience.

"The both of your fathers served time here. Your grandfather and his father were notorious. You both were leaders at some point. And to be honest you both are a little hot-headed."

He let Miguel's outburst be case and point. Feeling a bit sheepish, the Latino sat back down.

"I um, I never thought of it that way," he admitted.

McManus sat forward.

"Maybe you'll give him a chance?"

Miguel thought about it. Sure enough he remembered what felt like ages ago when he'd led the Latinos and Schibetta had come in to replace his deceased father for the wops. Adebesi was still breathing back then, leading the blacks. He'd propositioned Miguel to help him off Schibetta. Likewise, the Italians had come to him with an offer. Schibetta had even cited their Latin blood as a commonality. Miguel had held so much power then.

Now he was jumping at shadows that were trying to make him their bitch. Abandoned by his own.

"I guess I can put up with him," he relented much to McManus's appreciation.

The man smiled and for some strange reason Miguel felt himself smiling back.

"Okay, off you go then."

He rose, goofy smile still in place and Murphy opened the door.

"Catch you later."

He left the office, thoughtful about his new situation. He'd never taken the time to even consider Peter Schibetta before. He was just another inmate, at one time competitor. On his way to his pod he quickly lost his smile— couldn't look too happy here, especially coming from McManus's office. But inside he was considering his words. And Murphy's as well. Someone was pulling for him, believing in him for once. That made him feel pretty damn good.

When he got to his pod he found it empty. He glanced around to find Schibetta sitting with the Italians down on the lower level. He looked miserable.

_At least his old crew will sit with him. Mine wants to kill me._

He glanced over at the Latinos, all huddled around Morales and joking. He desperately wanted to be a part of that circle, laughing at whatever Morales had told them. He missed the camaraderie.

He didn't even realize he was staring until Morales glanced up. The second their eyes met he turned into his pod, quickly finding something else to pay attention to. His bed would do. He started to straighten the sheets, fluff the pillow, anything to keep from looking in that direction. Miguel hadn't meant to be seen. He was trying to stay as far off El Norte's radar as possible. Especially now.

Initially he'd fingered his old crew for his attack but realized that had they been behind it he'd either be dead or laid up in the infirmary with stitches all through his ass. They wouldn't have been kind enough to lube him so generously. And they certainly wouldn't be keeping the incident to themselves. They'd make his humiliation public.

"I see you're out of the hole."

Miguel looked up to find Ryan O'Reilly leaning into his doorway.

"Yea," was all he offered.

O'Reilly wasn't someone he considered an enemy but he was far from a friend. Though they didn't particularly have bad blood between them he knew better than to trust him. It had been one of his stunts that had turned El Cid against Miguel, (the second time anyway) signaling his end as a member of El Norte. The mick was always up to something.

"What do you want O'Reilly?" he sighed.

"What, can't a guy check in on an old friend?"

"We ain't never been friends."

"Okay business associate," O'Reilly corrected.

He leaned in closer.

"Look I came to warn you. Watch your ass Alvarez. After that stunt you pulled with Hoyt, the bikers want blood."

He'd figured. Well they could just get in line.

"The fuck is your angle man?" he was tired of the bullshit. O'Reilly didn't just help people out of the kindness of his heart. He wanted something.

The Irishman picked up his suspicion and laughed.

"Okay, I'll be real with you—" he made his way into the pod and pinned the door shut with his back—"What's the deal with you and Murphy?"

He spoke in a hushed tone, aware of listening ears. Miguel stared.

"What?"

O'Reilly gave him one of those cunning looks of his. Yep always up to something.

"Come on, you get sent to the hole and not even three hours go by he gets you out? Not to mention after the riot you two were kind of chummy. He for sale? Or are you?"

He was insinuating that either Murphy was crooked or that Miguel was a rat. Neither sat well with the young Latino.

"Man get the fuck out of here with that shit. He just took me to the infirmary because of my head. And you know Murphy's the cleanest hack here. He's a fucking choirboy."

O'Reilly wasn't buying it. His shifty ass wouldn't.

"Then why'd he get you out of the hole?"

"Because I didn't fucking deserve to be in there. Hoyt started that shit."

He didn't like the way the mick was studying him. Trying to find his scheme. But there was no scheme, only McManus and the secret he and Murphy were keeping for him. A secret that no one, especially not Ryan O'Reilly could ever know.

"You need anything else?"

O'Reilly just watched him, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"No. Just wanted to warn you. Oh yea and LoPresti isn't exactly too thrilled with you either. Might want to stay out of his way."

He left the pod, that cocky stride of his irritating the life out of Miguel. How could someone so full of shit always manage to keep it from sticking to him? Maybe he had a guard in his pocket himself. He'd done it before.  
Briefly —for just a split second he considered if O'Reilly could be the one who'd attacked him. But nah. He was a lot of things but a rapist wasn't one of them. He was likely the straightest guy in the whole damn pen. Besides, if he wanted something he didn't take it by force. He took it by manipulation.

But the visit did bring cause for concern. O'Reilly wasn't the only inmate to see his quick return from the hole. And if he was speculating then others were too. Speculation led to digging. And digging led to things that needed to stay buried. Fuck!

It was only a matter of time before they found that it was McManus not Murphy that was throwing him favors. Truth be told a smart guy like O'Reilly should've already understood that. McManus was the boss, not Murphy. Surely Murphy couldn't go snatching people from the hole without McManus's approval.

He sat down on his bed, dropped his face in his hands for a moment to think. His head was a collective mess. He needed something to take the pressure off. Like…maybe some tits. It had been a while since he'd been high.  
Since Adebesi's death the tit trade had been run by Pancamo and Morales.

Obviously Morales was off limits but maybe Pancamo's crew could sell him something. It was either them or independent contractors like O'Reilly. If he wanted to keep his head down, O'Reilly was the best bet unfortunately. The hacks didn't suspect him in the drug trade, the heat was off him. Not to mention O'Reilly had a mentality of self-first. He wouldn't jeopardize his money by sabotaging a paying customer.

Besides, Pancamo had partnered up with Morales.

"Count!"

He stood, stepped out in front of his pod and waited. Schibetta made his way up and seemed glad to see him.

The dago actually smiled. Miguel's puzzlement must have shown on his face because his pod-mate quickly cleared his throat and the smile was gone. Both faced forward and waited for the hack to come down the line.


	4. Nightmares

When he'd seen Alvarez escorted back into the unit Peter couldn't help the flit of excitement. He wouldn't be alone tonight. He'd be safe. He fought the urge to jump up from his seat and meet his roommate at the gate.

"Look at that," Joey noted.

"They let him out early."

The crew had been playing pinochle and surveying their surroundings. Until now nothing had warranted much comment.

"Wonder what he did to pull that off."

Pancamo shrugged.

"Maybe he sucked McManus's dick," he joked.

Everyone laughed but Peter. He watched as Murphy led Miguel straight to the unit manager's office.

"If the bikers come after him, we gotta have his back," he declared.

Pancamo looked up from his cards.

"Come again?"

Peter sat forward in his seat.

"He went after Hoyt for me. We owe him."

Pancamo considered.

"Why would he defend you?" Joey remarked.

"You two were never really cool."

"I distinctly remember him telling you to drop dead," Pancamo chuckled.

When he'd rejected Peter's offer for partnership.

"His exact words were 'Drop fucking dead' but that was a long time ago," Peter pointed out.

"Circumstances change. Allegiances change. You of all people should know that Chucky."

If he understood the dig, Pancamo ignored it. Instead he shifted his cards in consideration.

"All right. This one time. If the bikers try anything we got him. He protects one of us, we protect him."

Pleased, Peter sat back in his seat. Again he glanced up at McManus's office. What were they talking about in there?

"I don't know," Joey seemed a bit dubious.

"What would that spic get out of backing Petey?"

"You think he's up to something?" Pancamo asked.

"Maybe. Nobody's that noble in Oz."

Peter didn't like the insinuation. He opened his mouth to say as much when Pancamo spoke.

"Keep an eye on him. And Petey, you be careful. If he makes a move or does anything untoward in that pod you let me know."

They went back to the game, Miguel Alvarez an afterthought. Peter frowned but didn't say anything further. It would take time to build trust between his crew and the Latino. And he'd barely spent ten minutes with him himself. Maybe he should feel things out first before he went to bat for him. He glanced back up at McManus's office and ignored the tinge of hope he felt at seeing his roommate again.

After a while Alvarez left the office with an actual smile on his face. Peter lit up at the sight. But just as quickly Alvarez lost it, transforming back into a wary scowl. Peter watched him make his way to their pod, pause in the entry.

"Yo Petey you in this game or what?"

He didn't want to play. This was he father's game.

"Nah. I'm good."

He folded his arms, not particularly enjoying himself. He didn't want to be sitting there, watching the same man who hadn't protected him play a game his father had taught him. He wanted to be upstairs. With Alvarez.

He stole a glance back up. Miguel was staring at the Latinos, his big brown eyes wistful, longing. It was obvious he missed his old crew. Peter watched him watching them until Miguel abruptly turned away, into the pod.

"I gotta take a piss," Pancamo announced.

"Don't fuck with my cards."

"Yea you were losing anyways," Joey snorted after him.

Left without their leader the guys talked about nothing, just shooting the shit. Having had enough, Peter scooted his seat back.

"I'm going up to my pod," he announced.

The others looked at him but only Joey spoke.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Stay here with us. We got you.”

He felt like a five year old.

"It's just right there. You can see me the whole time."

Joey didn't budge.

"Be that as it may, I think it'd be better if you stayed here with us. At least til count."

They'd been friends since childhood, their fathers being friends before that. If Peter had a brother it would be Joey. They'd grown up together, fought together and at one point been willing to go to war together. Now Joey was talking to him like he was a child. Directing him.

_I used to run this operation._

But remembering the jeers, the looks that inmates were still throwing his way when Pancamo wasn't there, Peter stayed in his seat. Because admit it or not, he was afraid. Jaz Hoyt wasn't the only one who wanted a piece of his ass.

Begrudgingly he scooted back to the table noticing Ryan O'Reilly entering his pod. What did that mick want with Alvarez? Fifteen minutes later the hacks were calling for count. Joey and another inmate who'd come in during Peter's psych stay (he forgot his name) walked him a few steps from his door before heading to their own. As he approached he couldn't help the grin as he neared his roommate. Alvarez gazed over and sent him a baffled look. Immediately Peter caught himself and cleared his throat. Damn, what was that? He glanced down the line, waiting for the hack to come down and get it over with. When he noticed a couple of homeboys eying him he glowered before turning to look straight ahead. His heart was pounding in his chest.

_Show no fear._

He clenched his fists at his sides, repeating the mantra even as Murphy passed him. After count he hurried into the pod, finding the sink to splash his face with water.

"You all right?"

He wiped his wet eyes to see Alvarez taking a seat on his bunk.

"Me, yea just... these fucking homeboys."

Miguel tensed up, ready to fight.

"They threatening to rape you?"

Peter felt that twinge again. Appreciation at someone jumping to his defense.

"Just staring. You know. They haven't said anything yet."

Alvarez was at the glass, peering out. How he'd moved so fast was impressive.

"Who was it? Fucking _putas_."

He went on another tirade in Spanish, never once leaving the glass. Prisoners in the pods across the way were probably wondering what he was going on about. His body language said it all. Peter marveled for a while before catching himself. He wiped his face and climbed up to his bunk. He heard a hack yell for Alvarez to settle down. The Latino cursed under his breath but backed away from the glass.

"Um, good looking out," Peter heard himself saying before he could stop himself.

Miguel looked his way, still agitated.

"What?"

Peter swallowed.

"I said thanks. For earlier. Hoyt. That asshole was due for a beatdown."

Alvarez shrugged it off.

"I didn't do it for you. I fucking hate rapists. Nobody should fucking rape people."

He kicked his shoes off and sat down on his own bed, eliminating Peter's view of him.

"Oh. Well in any case I like what you did."

He tossed his own shoes off and lied back. His eyes faced the ceiling but his mind was on the bunk below.

"Pancamo says if the bikers come after you, the Sicilians got your back."

He heard Miguel shift.

"Really?"

"Yea. Whether you did it for me or not, you saved me a lot of grief. From him at least."

He knew there would be more. There would always be more.

"Hey, so Pancamo is cool with me right?"

Peter noted the hopeful lilt to his tone.

"I guess," he answered, "Why?"

Joey's words came back to him and Peter felt his heart sinking. So it had all been to gain something. Not for him at all.

"I got enough enemies around here. It helps to have one less to worry about."

Relief flooded through him. Alvarez just wanted to be square. Nothing wrong with that. They were quiet a while before Alvarez asked if he had any tits for sale. Of course the answer was no, Chucky wouldn't allow the weakling to hold tits on his first day back. Besides Joey thought it'd put a bigger target on his back. A prag with tits was basically free tits with a fuck on the side. He'd said as much without saying it.

"I'm out of the game for now," was his answer.

His pod-mate didn't inquire further thankfully. But he was restless. Were it anyone else Peter would feel uncomfortable. But after twice Alvarez had come to his aid, he felt safer with him by the minute. When lights out came Peter was actually able to close his eyes to drift off to sleep…until he woke to panting in the bunk below.

He rolled to his stomach, peered over the edge of his bunk to find a sweaty, terrified Alvarez thrashing in his sleep.

"…nobody's fucking prag…I'm nobody's fucking prag…"

A nightmare. He was all too familiar with those. Peter climbed down to the floor, kneeled over and gave the Latino a rough shake.

"Hey, wake up!" he whispered.

"Alvarez!"

It took a couple more shakes before his eyes opened, large and brown and every bit the Spanish ancestry of his bloodline. Bewildered, Miguel lashed out, his fist connecting with Peter’s exposed nose.

"Jesus, fuck!"

Peter fell backwards, landing on his ass. He cradled his nose in his hands as warm liquid spewed forth.

"Schibetta?"

He spoke through the pain.

"Who the fuck else would I be?"

Alvarez sat up, scooted down to him.

"Shit man. Sorry."

He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and offered it to him. Peter snatched it and gingerly applied it to the ache of his nose.

"I thought you were…I don't know who I thought you were."

Normally Peter slept shirtless but leering eyes had made him a little conscious. His white t-shirt would be ruined.

"It's okay," he groaned, "I should know better than to run up on a guy in a place like this."

He didn't bother to get up. Alvarez sat across from him, seeming unsure of what else to do.

"Shit, Pancamo's going to have my ass for this."

Despite his pain, Peter chuckled.

"Don't worry about Pancamo. you're still good with him. Me on the other hand, you got some making up to do."

He was joking of course. His roommate played along.

"Yea, what you need? I got high quality pharmaceuticals coming in tomorrow. That good shit."

When Miguel's mouth turned up in a slight smile Peter felt his own mimicking.

"You're a fucking nut, you know that Alvarez?"

"That's why they prescribe me the big stuff. None of that generic shit."

He shifted so that his back rested against Miguel's bunk. The two were now facing each other.

"They got me on some stuff too," Peter felt comfortable enough to admit.

"To deal with shit, you know."

He wasn't going to say it. Everybody already knew. Alvarez was quiet for a moment, his eyes kind of thoughtful. Then hesitant.

"Do they help?" he finally asked.

Peter nodded. The psych meds Sister Pete had prescribed were helping with his anxiety and the flashbacks. It was how he'd been able to return to Em City.

"They help."

He could tell that Miguel wanted to ask him something else but the Latino was having a hard time. Whatever it was, it was deeply personal he gathered. His roommate opened his mouth again but then shut it, clearly deciding not to go forth with whatever it was.

"Let me get you a rag for that."

He stood, his lean body on display in just his boxers. Peter watched him wet a wash cloth in the sink before kneeling back down to hand it to him. He accepted it and replaced the soaked-through tissue.

Alvarez lingered for a second, seemingly unsure of where to go next then opted to sit back down beside him. The congeniality of the gesture wasn't lost on Peter.

"You um, you were going to ask me about what happened weren't you?" he noted.

Alvarez didn't look at him.

"I uh…"

"It's cool. I'm over it. Adebesi's dead. And the Aryans…they're in a different unit so I'm good."

He hoped so anyway. But he couldn't be sure until he actually had to see one of them.

"I dealt with it," he continued.

"I worked it out with Sister Pete. You know, counseling and shit. That's how they let me come back."

He wasn't sure why he felt so at ease with his roommate especially after the bloody nose but he could only attribute it to the way he'd defended him not once but twice already. His outrage and willingness to tear apart any inmate that even appeared to threaten to take Peter against his will. He found himself trusting Alvarez.

"How do you do it?" the Latino surprised him with the question.

"Walk through here knowing they're out there. Just watching you?"

His eyes had a haunted look. One Peter suddenly recognized. It was almost like looking in a mirror. He felt a deeper kinship to Miguel in that moment, finally understanding why he hadn't been placed with Joey or Pancamo. Miguel too had been raped. Most likely Sister Pete had something to do with their rooming situation. A nun and a psychologist, she knew what they needed.

He decided not to comment on his discovery. It would be best to let Miguel come clean with it when he was ready.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

"I just take it one day at a time and thank God I don't have to see their faces. I mean I know I'm going to see Schillinger when he brings the mail but…"

He could only hope he'd prepared himself for the inevitable encounter. Deep breaths. Recognize that the Nazi fuck had no power over him. He was a coward, a coward who'd hidden behind his goons and his ideology to mask his own insecurities. He hurt others because he was too much of a pussy to face himself.

"Fucking Schilinger," Miguel was pissed again.

"Beecher should've finished him off when he shit on his face."

Peter hadn't been an inmate yet but he'd heard of the incident. Wished he could've seen it.

"If I had the opportunity I would," Peter fantasized.

"I'd get him and Robson and I don't even know that other cocksucker's name but I'd airhole him too."

Miguel looked at him.

"Why doesn't Pancamo? He knows who did it right?"

Of course he knew. Everybody knew.

"Guess I'm not worth starting another war over."

The fucked up part was that he'd been trying to avenge Chucky for the Aryans shanking him when it had happened. And what did he get for his troubles? Three dicks up his ass. He shook it off.

_I'm okay now._

"Fuck that."

Miguel glared out at nothing.

" _Familia_ should look out for each other."

Yea, _familia_.

"They should," Peter agreed.

The former leaders sat for a while, each contemplating their own definitions of _familia_. When his legs started to cramp Peter finally stood. He'd underestimated his foot falling asleep however and the second he was up he was tumbling back down.

Miguel grabbed hold and caught him before he hit the floor. He'd practically landed on his lap.

"I—"

The sudden banging of a hack at their window cut his words.

"Break it up it, lovebirds!"

Both men jumped apart, and scrambled to their feet. Alvarez scowled at the glass.

"We weren't doing nothing! He fell."

The flashlight shined in the both of their faces, causing Peter to turn away.

"Yea right on your dick, Alvarez. Get to bed!"

The insinuation caused heat to run up Peter's spine. Heat and anger and he flipped off the hack in response.

"Fuck you!"

But he was already moving on to the next pod. Humiliation again ebbed at Peter as he was reminded again of his place now. He would always be regarded as a prag. Even by the hacks. Red-faced, he climbed back to his bunk. Miguel glared out toward the retreating figure in blue for a moment more before he turned back to face Peter.

"Fuck him."

But the truth of his reality was already weighing on the young Italian. He pulled the sheets up over himself feeling vulnerable suddenly.

"Let everybody tell it, fuck me."

Alvarez gave him a look. Not one of sympathy but something else.

"They try it and they're dead."

He stared at the Latino, saw conviction in his eyes. He knew then that Miguel Alvarez was his true _familia_.


	5. Accusations

Miguel wasn't able to get back to sleep but he could hear when his roomie did. A soft breathing, not snoring but even and relaxed. He listened for a while and tried to imagine being able to sleep that peacefully after what Peter had been through. He himself was having nightmares and he didn't even remember the damn thing. Peter had been conscious during everything.

_How the fuck does he do it?_

Peter seemed pretty calm about what had happened to him. Then again three years in the psych ward was probably enough time to get your shit together. But Miguel wasn't fooled, he could still see the fear in Peter's eyes when an inmate oogled him. And tonight he could see the shame.

_Nobody deserves to feel that way._

Miguel turned onto his side. He hated the way that hack had practically announced to the whole Em City that he and Peter were fucking. For sure the glass walls had ears. His roommate was going to take major heat for it.

_At least in this scenario I'm not the prag._

But if people thought he was poking the Sicilian then he'd have to answer to Pancamo. The one ally he might have acquired. Shit, he just couldn't catch a break!

In the morning he and Peter would have to talk about clearing things up with the wops. He couldn't afford anymore enemies. Especially an enemy that was already partnered with his former gang. Dios mio he had the worst luck!

As expected the morning brought on the jeers. Miguel could feel the eyes on him and his podmate, amused from some, hostile from others. Peter's porcelain skin was bright red the whole count.

"Schibetta, you okay?" Murphy paused to ask.

The Sicilian nodded.

"All good," he managed with the bravado known of his people.

Murphy nodded and moved on.

"He's just a little hot after that spicy Latin sausage," one of the bikers was joking.

Miguel started to move on him when Murphy turned around.

"Shut it! Unless you'd like a vacation in the hole?"

Silence.

"Thought so."

He gave Miguel a warning look. Remembering what he and McManus were doing for him, the Latino backed down. After count Peter dipped into the pod.

"This is fucking perfect," he grumbled under his breath.

"As if shit wasn't bad enough!"

Miguel backed in, his eyes on a couple of bikers warily.

"This is all because of that damn hack. The fuck is his name?"

Parsons or some shit. Peter didn't seem to hear the question. Hearing his silence, Miguel turned to him. He found his roommate staring out at nothing. Shit, was he going to lose it? He moved toward him, clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave a shake.

"Yo!"

Schibetta blinked, came to.

"Hey, you can't afford to lose it, man," Miguel warned.

"These fucks will have a field day."

Sicilian eyes regained their focus.

"You realize the irony of you of all people telling me not to lose it, right?"

He smirked and Miguel was surprised to note his own relief at the expression on him.

"Yea well my crazy keeps me safe. Yours gets you in the psych ward."

They shared a dry laugh. When Peter moved to make up his bed, Miguel remembered his predicament.

"Hey, uh you think you can talk to Pancamo? You know, clear this shit before he thinks I'm trying to get at you."

"Already on it."

Miguel was relieved enough to turn his back. He brushed his teeth, spit in the sink and glanced up in the mirror at himself. There was a time when he prided in his appearance, he'd always been a handsome son of a bitch but that had changed after he cut his face a while back. Now he managed to still look good but he didn't dwell on it. Pride had cost him too much as it was.

In the mirror he saw Peter suddenly look up and scowl at the door.

"Can I help you with something?"

He turned to see who his roommate was snapping at and found Chico Guerra smiling in their doorway. Instinctively Miguel crossed protectively in front of the Italian.

"The fuck you want?"

Guerra's smile widened devilishly.

"I hear you had a good time last night."

Miguel glared.

"Hack's full of shit. Now what the fuck do you want?"

He was ready. He'd taken out would-be assassins before. He could do it again. To his surprise, however, Guerra didn't move on him. He didn't even leave the doorway.

"Morales wants a sit-down. Library, today. After lunch."

A sit down. With the current leader of his old gang? Miguel felt that familiar surge of adrenaline at yet another oncoming attempt on his life. God why couldn't they just leave him the fuck alone?

"Yea right."

Guerra's shifty eyes narrowed. Well the one any way. He had a lazy eye.

"You turning him down?" that tone implied mad disrespect. Morales wouldn't be pleased.

Seeing no way out Alvarez shrugged.

"I'll be there."

Guerra nodded approvingly.

"That's a good boy."

Again his eyes trailed to Miguel's roommate.

"Oh, and leave your little girlfriend at home. Latinos only. "

Miguel had to bite his tongue for the litany of insults swirling through his mind. But seeing as Morales was already summoning him he probably couldn't afford to get into a brawl with one of his men. Especially one as ruthless as Guerra.

_They used to be my hermanos._

Well, he'd never really dealt with Morales seeing as he'd been locked away in solitary. But El Norte had been his _familia_.

"We done?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Guerra smirked.

"Yea, you just be there."

Guerra sauntered off from his doorway, quite amused with himself. Miguel wanted to drag that smirk across the floor. But thinking of Morales he held himself together.

"You aren't seriously going to meet him?"

He didn't look at Peter.

"I got no choice."

"He's setting you up. They're going to ice you the second you get there."

It wouldn't be the first time they tried.

"I can handle myself."

He grabbed his clothes and began dressing for breakfast.

"I'll have Pancamo send some guys with you," Peter declared.

Miguel paused to stare incredulously.

"What?"

Was he serious? One look at the young Sicilian told him that yes, he was.

"You got to be kidding me. Pancamo is partners with Morales. He ain't doing shit against him. Especially not for somebody that ain't even part of his crew."

Peter's eyes were wide as he spoke.

"I got him to agree to protect you from the bikers. I can get him to do this."

It was crazy, didn't make an ounce of sense. This was the same guy that refused to start another war with the Aryans over Peter's rape yet he was supposed to nix a partnership with Morales over Miguel?

"They really do got you on that good shit if you believe that, Schibetta."

"But you can't just go. Th-they'll kill you!"

Miguel blinked at Peter's elevated tone.

"The fuck is your problem?"

It was like he was more scared than Miguel was. Not that Miguel was scared…shit he couldn't kid himself, he was terrified. And maybe just a little bit hopeful...

 _Don't be stupid. They don't want you back Pendejo_.

But he couldn't help that tiny part of him that wanted so desperately to belong again.

"What's my problem?" Peter was up in his face, blooming red.

"These fuckers are trying to whack you and you're walking right into it but you ask what's my fucking problem? Maybe I don't want you to die, Alvarez!"

Miguel stared, unsure how to take his podmate's outburst. This was Oz, you didn't express things like concern for another inmate's welfare. Not unless you were in the same crew and even then you weren't so dramatic about it…why was he so emotional? He barely knew Miguel. Peter was staring back at him with wild and panicked eyes. Startled, Miguel found himself at a loss for words.

He wasn't sure how long the eye lock lasted or of what it meant but he picked up that Peter might be telling the truth about not wanting him to die. Peter was genuinely afraid on his behalf. Considering their history that was… odd.

"Yo, there a problem?"

Their eyes tore away from each other to find Joey DeAngelo watching them cooly from the doorway. Miguel recognized Pancamo's enforcers—Don Zanghi and Mario Seggio flanking the lieutenant. They didn't just show up to say hi.

_That fucking hack signed my death warrant last night!_

"No, no problem," Peter spoke, but his voice was a little shaky.

He seemed to notice, cleared his throat and spoke again.

"It's all good. Everything's good."

Joey's eyes were on Miguel, suspicion and disdain no secret.

"Let's go, Petey. Time for breakfast."

Miguel saw Peter glance back at him hesitantly. Then he gave in and went with his gang. Joey stepped aside, allowing Peter to exit and Zanghi took the young Schibetta's shoulder to guide him away. Joey's eyes remained on Miguel.

"Look whatever you heard about last night was bullshit," he finally defended himself.

"Ask Peter. He'll tell you."

Joey didn't say anything but gestured for Seggio to join the retreating others. That left the two of them alone. Miguel himself became suspicious when Joey actually stepped into the cell. When he closed the door, Alvarez went on high alert.

"I know after what happened to Pete you all might think he's fresh meat for the taking," the Italian spoke quietly, menacingly.

"But he ain't no fag. And if you think you're going to turn him into one I'll personally shove your balls right up your own ass."

He meant it.

"I ain't no fucking fag either," Miguel shot back. "I never touched your boy. That hack was trying to be funny."

Joey didn't seem convinced.

"Then why with the friendliness? Hoyt? The bikers? Nothing in Oz is free, Alvarez. What are you aiming to get out of this?"

Miguel glared at his insinuation. He wasn't a _maricon!_

"I didn't ask for some wop roommate! I didn't ask to be dragged in your bullshit. You asking me why I jumped Hoyt yesterday? Because I fucking felt like it. Because he was getting on my fucking nerves. I don't have to explain shit to you!"

"Yea well this thing with you and Peter, it gets on my nerves. Just keep your hands to yourself."

He left the pod with another warning glare. Alone at last, Miguel sank down on his bed. He didn't need this dago drama! Especially with the meet with Morales coming up. Fucking DeAngelo. Where was this protective attitude when Schillinger and his boys had run a train on his _pisan_? Why weren't their balls up their asses? Whatever.

He ran his hand through his short hair. Glared out the glass door. He'd lost whatever appetite he'd had after Guerra's visit.

What did Morales want with him? What did he have planned? Miguel dwelled on that, subconsciously choosing to ignore the Italian matter and what he'd seen in Peter Schibetta's eyes.

Refusing to believe that someone in Oz sincerely cared. About him.


	6. The Meeting

"That hack was being an asshole. Just fucking with me."

Pancamo downed his orange juice, his expression much displeased.

"It doesn't look good, Petey. You understand that, right? These mooks think we can't protect our own it's bad for business."

Joey agreed.

"I don't like it. I still think he should switch rooms. Maybe we go talk to McManus—"

Peter almost left his seat.

"No."

Joey gave him an impatient look.

"We're trying to protect you."

He spoke without thinking.

"I don't need your protection!"

No one replied but their faces said volumes. Yes he did. Because he wasn't just Adebesi's bitch now. He'd been made Schillinger's as well.

"Petey, look," Pancamo was more patient than Joey was right now.

"You got to understand, this ain't only about you. Something happens to you, we all look like limp dicks."

In other words he was a liability.

"Alvarez isn't doing anything to me. He's just minding his business and trying not to die."

Seggio and Joey shared a look.

"Then he can keep minding his business without you," their leader concluded.

"I'll talk to McManus about getting you in a pod with one of us. Donny, you good for it?"

Zanghi nodded, his mouth full.

Peter's heart was racing now. He didn't want another roommate. He wanted Miguel.

"You can't just switch my room like that! What, I don't get a say?"

His face was burning and he knew it was probably flushed but he couldn't just sit back and let them take him away like that. Miguel gave him a sense of safety, security, protection that he hadn't felt since that first violation. He couldn't lose him.

"You guys got some special bond or something?" Joey snapped.

"Why are you so determined to stay in his pod?"

"It's my pod too, Joey."

"Then you won't mind if he leaves."

There was something beneath those words. A threat. It set Peter off.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Donny, having come up with Peter, was probably his closest ally at the moment. It was he who reached over to pat his shoulder.

"Petey, calm down."

But Joey's words were still fresh.

"You touch a hair on his head and I swear to God—"

"What? What are you going to do?" Joey cut in dismissively.

"Aye!" Pancamo gave the both of them a look.

"You seriously fighting over a spic? Against your own?"

He gave them a moment to let the absurdity of their actions sink in. Then he turned to Joey.

"You don't touch him. Petey says he didn't touch him I believe it. But keep a watch on that spic. Anything and I mean anything that looks remotely funny and it's a wrap."

Joey nodded obviously not appeased. Peter felt himself shaky as his former enforcer turned to him.

_I used to order you around Chucky._

"And you, McManus said you might be…different so I'll let this slide but you gotta know that everything we're doing is for your protection. You get it up the ass again—"

Peter involuntarily flinched.

"—and we all look weak. They say we can't protect one of ours. What do you think these assholes out here will do to you once that happens?"

Everyone had stopped eating, was now looking at Peter as if they were finally seeing him for how weak he truly was. He felt weak then, even more the lame duck of the family. He wasn't just the kid that they had to look out for. He was the retard kid, the gimp. A burden.

Not sure if he hated them for thinking it or himself for being it, Peter escaped their eyes by staring down at his food. He wasn't hungry but he couldn't bare to see the men he'd once led, that his father had once led looking at him as if he were their pathetic baby sister.

Miguel never made him feel pathetic.

After a moment Chucky started another conversation about business. Peter tuned him out, too caught up in his shame. He didn't even notice Miguel walk by to sit two tables away with The Others.

* * *

"Anything on the investigation front yet?"

McManus glanced up from the coffee he was preparing to find Dr. Nathan entering the breakroom.

He couldn't help but to smile at her; Gloria had always been a good friend. Briefly she had been more but that was a long time ago.

"I wish. So far nobody has said a thing about a thing. But I figure there are a couple of inmates who seem to know things. If I can squeeze them out then maybe I'll have at least a list of suspects."

She knit her brow in thought.

"It happened in the laundry room, right?"

Tim nodded.

"Who's pod is closest, has the best view?"

He'd already been there.

"It was during the riot, nobody was in their pods. A dead end."

Gloria frowned. Despite their being vicious criminals she truly seemed to care for her patients.

"Everybody? I have a hard time believing somebody like Busmalis or Rebadow would be out. Those poor old men would be torn apart."

She reached for the fridge door, pulled out a blue lidded tupperware container. Tim stepped out of her way as she set it in the microwave.

"Gloria, that's brilliant!"

Of course, the two oldest inmates wouldn't be in the middle of a riot. They'd retreat to their pod, hunker down and let the young bucks play. But being elderly they'd also do what the elderly did. They'd watch. Why hadn't he thought of this?

"Thank you!"

He gave her a quick hug before hurrying off back to unit. This could be the break he needed. Should he find Miguel's rapist the poor kid would finally be able to have closure, to heal. He wanted that for him. For Miguel to finally have a chance. He was still young, had so many years ahead of him. To spend them all in Oz would be a tragedy. The boy had potential.

Wangler had potential too but look how that turned out.

He shook it off. Wangler hadn't wanted to change. He'd chosen Adebesi over school. But Alvarez, he seemed to want to turn over a new leaf. He seemed to really be trying.

Tim was determined. With his help, Miguel would succeed.

* * *

Miguel swallowed hard. He'd avoided the Italians all day, even Peter as he'd been attached to the crew since leaving for breakfast. He'd spotted his podmate in the cafeteria, staring down at his food with the saddest most miserable look Miguel had seen. He almost looked like he wanted to cry. Pancamo and the goons had gone on talking like Peter wasn't there. They hadn't even noticed that he wasn't eating.

It bothered him, how alone Peter seemed even with an entire crew looking out for him. Alone was something Miguel knew too well. It stayed with him, even after breakfast, at his work assignment in the infirmary, and even more so at lunch when again he saw Peter sitting quietly while the others chatted. Zanghi at least seemed to try to include him, speaking to him a couple of times but Schibetta had already shut down. He could see it. It was like looking in a mirror.

"You keep staring like that and DeAngelo is going to jab his fork in your throat."

Miguel jumped at the sound of Rebadow's voice so close to his ear. He blinked at the man then back at the Sicilians to see that yes Joey DeAngelo was watching him. He was the only one, Seggio and Zanghi were cracking up at something Pancamo had said. Peter was still staring down at his plate. Miguel sent a scowl the Italian's way. DeAngelo returned the gesture. Fuck he didn't need this. He had the Latinos to worry about in less than ten minutes. Miguel stood and went to go clear his tray. At the counter he spotted O'Reily. The mick was watching too but his eyes traveled just beyond Miguel. Dubious, the Latino turned to find Murphy approaching.

"Alvarez, I need to see you for a minute."

He followed the hack out to the hall, feeling O'Reily's attention on his back.

That mick's going to be all over this later.

Once they reached the hall Murphy glanced around. No listening ears. He leaned in for confidentiality.

"McManus sent me to check up on you. Especially after this morning. If those bikers give you a problem you'll let me know?"

Yea right.

He gave a shrug in response. Murphy moved on.

"Also, he wants you to know that he's making progress with things and to hang in there."

That caught Miguel's attention.

"He knows who did it?"

He tried to imagine who it could be.

The CO shook his head.

"Not yet but he's got some leads he's working on. He's pretty confident."

Miguel started to tell him where McManus could stick his confidence when he remembered his meeting. He had to go.

"I gotta get back," he was too anxious to come up with a where.

Murphy nodded, thankfully less intrusive than his unit manager. He let Miguel go, heading back into the cafeteria.

On his trek to the library the Miguel felt his nerves beginning to spazz. This could very well be the last time he walked this corridor. Morales was literally holding his life in his hands.

_Nah, I'll survive. I always do._

He paused in front of the library. No hacks. That couldn't be good. He took a breath, remembered the "gift" he'd lifted from the infirmary just for this occasion.

If they planned to spill his blood, he'd spill a lot of theirs with it.

His mind buzzing on alert, the young Latino entered the library.

Morales was seated toward the far end, Guerra on his right, some newer members flanking them. They glanced up, of course expecting him. Morales gestured for him to come in. Sit down. Across from him.

" _¡Hola! me alegra que puedas venir amigo."_

He'd never been an _amigo_ of Miguel's.

"Nah, I'm good right here, thanks."

Guerra glared, obviously offended but the leader waved it off.

"Understandable. I suppose this situation would make me uncomfortable too if I were in your shoes."

He offered a congenial smile.

"What's this all about?" Miguel was pleased that his voice was strong, no hint of the marathon his heart was racing as he spoke.

"I'm aware that before my arrival there was some bad blood between you and my predecessor. I don't know or really care for the history. I prefer to live in the now."

Morales shrugged as if El Cid's vendetta had been high school dramatics.

"That tit for tat, rivalry shit. It's not me. So I'm willing to call a truce, consider all beef squashed between you and _El Norte_."

Guerra turned so sharply he could've gotten whiplash.

"What?!"

Morales didn't acknowledge him.

"Under my strict orders no member of El Norte is to touch you or harm you in any way. Anyone does and it will be taken as direct disobedience and…dealt with."

That last line was meant for Chico. Miguel wasn't sure what to make of any of this.

"A truce? But why?"

Morales was straight forward.

"It's bad for business. You stab him, he stabs you, bodies drop that shit draws unwanted attention. Diverts time and resources from the enterprise. Costs me money."

So basically he was sparing him so the tit flow could continue uninterrupted. Well.

"You took out a couple of ours. They were trying to take you out so that was justified. You just stay out of our way and we'll stay out of yours. _Comprende_?"

The deal couldn't be real. It was too good to be true. After over a year of watching his back it'd be over? Well, as far as the Latinos went but theirs had been the harshest threat. They'd wanted him dead.

"This a trick?" he couldn't help but to ask.

Morales looked him straight in the eye, a look so deep he was tempted to turn away.

"I don't lie, Alvarez. Not to _hermanos_ , fellow or former."

Maybe it was his intensity, that cool and soft tone rivaling his eyes but Miguel actually believed him.

"So it's done? I'm free to go?" his surprise was apparent.

So was Guerra's dismay.

"You got something else you want from us?" Morales questioned.

Miguel opened his mouth—

Brotherhood? _Familia_?

"Uh…no."

He knew they would never take him back. It was a lost cause. So why did he still crave it so much?

"Okay then. Shake on it?"

He moved in, gripped the Latino leader's hand. And shook. Morales had a firm shake—a man's shake. A leader's shake. At least his former gang was in fair and capable hands.

This wasn't the type of guy that would knock you out from behind and rape you up the ass.

Miguel left the meeting feeling both relief and a heavy sense of loss. It would be nice not to worry about the Latinos anymore. But now his tie was officially over. He was out, no hope of ever reconnecting with the gang that his grandfather was still revered by.

Conflicting thoughts fought in his mind. Should he rejoice? Should he mourn? Why the fuck was he so hung up on them anyway when they obviously didn't want him?

Feelings of inadequacy, loneliness—even out of solitary he was in solitary!

_You weren't solitary in that laundry room though._

Miguel clapped the sides of his head, so wrapped up in his emotions that he was oblivious to his surroundings. Had he been paying attention he would have noticed Max Sands creeping up behind him. Or Jim Burns's sinister chuckle before he struck.


	7. Interrogation

The blow knocked him forward, sending Miguel to his knees. Before he could recover his attackers began kicking, stomping until he was flat on the ground.

"This is for Hoyt you cock sucking spic!"

Miguel cursed out loud when a particularly hard kick hit a rib. He attempted to roll away, managing to hit the wall.

_Fuck!_

They kept coming with the kicks until one grabbed him up from behind and pinned him.

"I'm going to open you up like fish."

Instinct kicked in and Miguel was able to headbutt the biker's chin. Though the man was much taller, it caused him enough discomfort to step back. That gave the young Latino just enough time to reach for the scalpel in his jeans. He swung around and sliced. Both Burns and Sands paused to evaluate him.

"What do you think you're going to do with that?" Sands taunted.

In his hand was a good old fashioned shank made from a toothbrush and razor. Burns held some corkscrew type weapon.

"You made me bite my tongue you cocksucker!"

His back against the wall, Miguel swung his weapon again. He had to make it out of this. He was not going to die by these white trash hands! Just as Burns began to advance Miguel caught a glimpse of blue flashing around the corner. A hack! He'd never been happier to see one.

"Yo!" he called out.

The agile Latino dodged the corkscrew just as Sands landed a good gash to his forearm.

"Hey! Hey!"

Three hacks were coming which was a good thing. Still, he couldn't count himself lucky until his enemies had lost their gear. All it took was one good jab and once again he'd be laid up in the infirmary. Vulnerable to any attack.

For once the hacks did their job right. The three of them were tackled to the floor, weapons wrestled or tossed away. Of course Nobody admitted to owning said weapons. That made no difference. To the hole the three of them would go.

"Wait, not so fast Alvarez. Stay the fuck down."

It was Lopresti whose knee was in his back as Burns and Sands were dragged away.

"I got something else for you."

Miguel struggled, despite knowing it did no good. If he actually broke free they'd just beat him down again. It wasn't like there was anywhere he could go anyway.

"Quit your moving unless you want to go to solitary."

That froze him.

_Please no, anywhere but solitary._

His cheek against the cement floor, Miguel spat red salt from his busted lip. Whether it was the bikers or the hacks who'd done it he wasn't entirely sure. Everything had happened so fast.

"I'd like a word with you," the hack hissed.

He leaned in just enough to be heard better in his hushed tone.

"What the hell is going on with you and McManus? Why is he and Murphy so sweet on you all of a sudden?"

So somebody finally noticed. Other than O'Reily. Shit.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

Lopresti responded by digging his knee in painfully further. Miguel grunted.

"Don't fuck with me, Alvarez. Why is he so protective of you? You snitching on your friends? Oh wait you don't have any."

Forever alone. Forever solitary.

"Or maybe you're snitching on COs. Is that it? You running back to Daddy telling him what we do?"

What was he talking about?

"You tell him what you saw? During the riot?" Lopresti's baton was at his throat, forcing his neck upward as it pressed against him. Miguel couldn't even swallow.

"I didn't see nothing! I swear! I wasn't even—"

Conscious. Too busy passed out on the laundry room floor getting his ass plundered without his knowledge.

"I wasn't even participating. I did the riot thing before, remember? It didn't work out so well."

The hack actually chuckled halfway.

"Yea, I suppose you're better suited for folding shorts than leading shit. But that doesn't answer my question."

He tightened the baton and Miguel found that he couldn't breathe.

"What do you have going with McManus?"

He couldn't think of a lie so he went with the truth.

"He likes me for some reason. He wants to set me on the right path or some shit. I don't know why! He's fucking McManus! Always on some do-gooder shit."

Lopresti held him a little longer as he considered Miguel's answer. Just when the Latino knew he was going to black out from lack of air, the hack let him go. His face hit the floor, gasping for air.

"Sounds like that liberal prick."

He didn't ease his weight up.

"You must be his new Wangler."

The hack laughed a little louder.

"Yeah, McManus likes them young. Poor troubled minorities who made one bad choice in life," he mocked his superior 's tone.

"All they need is a chance to turn around. Let their balding white knight save them. You like white knights, Alvarez?"

Gulping in air, he still couldn't answer.

"Of course you do. You got McManus and Murphy watching out for you. Two white knights for one brown shit stain."

He still didn't let him up.

"Or do you like to be the knight? For your little Italian roomie? I heard you've been dipping your noodle in his pasta sauce."

Miguel managed enough breath for a quick retort.

"Fuck you!"

Lopresti laughed out loud.

"Fuck me, huh? You wish fag."

That was enough to set the Latino off again. He fought to find his feet, cursing in both English and Spanish.

I ain't no fag! I ain't no fucking maricon!

Maybe it was his momentum, the force of his anger but Lopresti was losing his hold. Just when Miguel succeeded in knocking the bastard off of him, the baton cracked him upside his head. The last thing he saw was Lopresti taking another swing.

* * *

"Get him out. Now!"

McManus was pacing behind his desk, absolutely pissed at the CO before him. Once again Lopresti had managed to throw Miguel in the hole and for an attack he was sure the bikers had initiated.

"He had a knife!" Lopresti insisted.

"A fucking scalpel from the infirmary. He attacked me! You telling me that doesn't warrant a month's stay in the hole?"

Tim didn't answer, still too angry at the situation. He knew why Miguel was on edge. The rape had him paranoid. He'd thought that having Schibetta as a podmate would help but that would take some time. It had only been a day.

"The bikers, Burns and Sands?"

"I threw them in too," Lopresti answered.

"Bet you don't have a problem with that though."

Tim was around his desk and in the officer's face.

"You're on a slippery slope toward suspension. Keep talking."

Just one more word, one more accusation. This asshole had it coming.

"Tim."

It was Murphy. He didn't glance at his best friend.

"I was doing my job. Anybody would've done the same. Alvarez had a knife! I don't have to remind you of what he did the last time he had one of those."

Rivera, the guard he'd literally gouged his eyes out. Alvarez had always been…unstable. Okay he had mental issues. All the more reason Tim wanted to see him pull through.

"Why were they alone in that hallway in the first place, huh?"

The CO was speechless. McManus nodded his vindication.

"Riiiight."

"Shit happens, we can't be everywhere all the time."

"Of course not," was his skeptical reply.

He'd had enough of the officer before him.

"Just go. Get out of my sight."

He dismissed him with a wave. The officer exited, not in the least a happy camper. Still fuming, Tim went back to pacing.

"This is not helping Miguel. Being thrown in the hole like this. I want you to get him out—"

"Tim—"

"And bring him to my office."

"That's not a good idea," Murphy told him.

He whirled on the Head CO.

"Excuse me?"

"Look, Lopresti already senses some form of favoritism going on with Alvarez. How much longer before the inmates pick it up? And how much worse for that kid once they do?"

That last sentence paused McManus in his steps.

"Christ."

If the other inmates thought that he was doing Miguel favors they’d start in on the Latino. Given his history of mental issues it would only be a matter of time before he got sent back to solitary. Or worse. The morgue.

"So what, you think I should just let him rot in there for a whole month?"

He couldn't do that either. The last thing Miguel needed was to be alone.

"No, of course not," his best friend seemed to get his concern.

"But maybe just a night or two. To give the impression that he isn't getting away with anything."

Tim sighed. He didn't like the idea of Miguel in there naked and alone. Especially after the rape.

"If it'll get the heat off his back," he reluctantly agreed.

"One night. I'll check in on him before I leave today. And again tomorrow to gage whether or not to let him stay another night. You working late?"

Murphy shook his head.

"Tomorrow's my late day."

That would leave Miguel unattended for the night. Tim tried to relax, to tell himself that no one could get to the Latino in the hole.

Yea, tell that to Dino Ortoloni.

He shook off the memory. That was a different time, before the renovations and efforts he'd made to increase inmate satisfaction. There was nothing to worry about.

Miguel would be safe.

If just for one night.


	8. Man Up

Peter tried to breathe, to stave off the tsunami of anxiety flooding him. Miguel was in the hole, for good this time. McManus wasn't pulling him out. Which meant Peter was sleeping alone.

Fucking bikers had gone after him, thank God they hadn't finished him. Once again Chucky had failed at protection. Peter sat quietly while the others played pinochle, wringing his hands under the table. They didn't seem to give a fuck about Miguel or about the promise Chucky had given just yesterday.

He'd brought it up only once. When the homeboys had come teasing that his "boyfriend" was in another hole tonight. (Weren't they clever.) Word spread quickly that Burns and Sands had made an attempt on him and now all three were locked up. He'd reminded Pancamo of his words. Who in turn had decided that given recent rumors it wouldn't look good to fight on Miguel's behalf.

"What the fuck would we look like defending a guy that's supposedly porking you?" he'd said.

"We ain't down with fags," Joey had added.

So Peter sat, all hope draining at the realization that Miguel was on his own. That he too was on his own.

"Hey, Petey."

Don nudged his shoulder.

"You alright?"

He nodded without looking up at his friend.

"I'm good."

He didn't see the doubtful look on Don's face.

"You know we got your back right? Just because Alvarez is gone don't mean we are."

Again he nodded, not feeling it. Don sighed but left him alone. They continued to play. Peter continued to think of Miguel.

The walk back to his pod for count was laced with apprehension. He knew that once Joey and Don left him, in the moments before the hack came by he was fair game. They would have to go back to their pod doors, leaving him without his…what was Miguel to him? His friend? No. His familia.

Joey gave a particularly nasty look to the homeboys nearby. With Burns and Sands away in the hole that at least gave him some smidgen of relief.

"Petey," Joey followed him into his doorway, took his pisan by the cheeks.

Forcing him to meet his eyes.

"You listen to me. Keep your fucking head up. Don't take any shit from these fucks alright? We'll be down the way watching but if one of them even looks at the lint on your fucking shoe you let us know. Yea?"

Well he looked serious enough. Peter knew that he was. By the way he wanted to go after Miguel for just the rumor of impropriety, he could only imagine how he'd react to any actual incident.

_Where the fuck was this conviction with Adebisi and Schillinger?_

He couldn't really fault Joey for Adebisi. He'd been transferred to another unit at the time. And even the Schillinger thing had happened while he was away. But Donny had been around. So had the others.

"Yea."

It was half-hearted. Joey didn't accept that.

"Hey!"

It wasn't his raised voice but the slap to his face that roused Peter.

"You're a fucking Sicilian. Act like one. Man the fuck up!"

It was harsh, it was blunt but Joey had never been a subtle guy. He'd come up with true roughnecks like Dino Ortoloni. He didn't do compassion.

"Count!"

Joey pat his shoulder before leaving, his eyes instructing him to stop being such a pussy. Such a prag. Like it was his fault that people saw him that way. Peter swallowed hard.

Maybe it was.

Nobody said anything after Joey and Don's departure but a particularly big homeboy was licking his lips as he eyed Peter. Another was smirking at him. They weren't the only ones.

Murphy came down the line, just like the morning. Remembering that it was he who had gotten Miguel out of the whole yesterday, Peter had to inquire.

"Murphy? How long is—"

He'd better word this carefully so as not to make his situation any worse.

"How long am I going to have my pod to myself?"

Murphy seemed to get what he was asking. But he wasn't answering.

"Mind your own business, Schibetta."

His pod was his business but he kept that to himself. After count he quickly moved inside. Before he crossed the threshold, however, a hand grasped his ass hard from behind.

"The fuck!"

He spun around but the homeboys continued past his pod, the big guy's eyes lingering. A hack had referred to him as Maxwell earlier. Whatever they called him, there was no mistaking that look. Or the tremor that hit Peter’s spine at the memories it triggered.

Adebisi.

His mouth opened to curse the fucker out but…Adebisi's face suddenly smiled at him. He could hear that thick accent; the way he'd always called him "Little Nino."

_"Payday baby…"_

The cold steel of the kitchen counter as he was thrown against it repeatedly with every dry, violent stroke.

Peter retreated into his pod, slamming the door. He was in bed in no time, eyes closed, blanket over his head.

_Show no fear! What's wrong with you?_

But he was shaking now. And he couldn't stop.

 _Man the fuck up!_ Joey ordered in his head.

Peter grit his teeth, tried to settle down. To take deep breaths like Sister Pete had taught him. Adebisi was dead. He couldn't hurt him. He was dead. He was dead. He was dead. He was…

* * *

McManus kept his word, checking in on Miguel before leaving for the night. The Latino did not look good. His back against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. But it was his eyes that bothered the unit manager. The wary, haunted look.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you here Miguel, but you had a knife. A knife! What were you planning to do with that?"

Alvarez just stared at him. No words.

"I know what this is about. I thought Murphy told you; I have a very good lead on what happened. I'm closer than I was before."

The inmate remained silent. But his eyes had changed. Just a flash of…something. But he offered nothing. Tim sighed, exhausted from a long day.

"Look, I'll be back tomorrow morning to see how you're doing. Can you just do me a favor and try not to get into any more trouble? I'm on this, Miguel. I'm going to find him."

Nothing.

Sighing, Tim left his charge, his mind set on saving him any way he could.

* * *

The hole was a funny place. Cold, dark, reeking of bodily fluids. But it wasn't the discomfort or the awful stench that threatened his sanity (ha, was there any left of it outside of his meds?) It was the solitude. The being alone. So alone…

He knew better than to think that being locked away made him safe. Here he was even more at risk. Hacks could do whatever they wanted. There were no witnesses. His time in solitary had taught him that much.

He didn't move from his corner. Didn't think about Em City or the comfort of his own bed in his own pod or that there he had a roommate.

Forever solitary. Forever alone.

Shit, Schibetta hadn't looked so good last he saw him. With the rumor that hack had started, the way everybody was riding him and his defeated manner at lunch with the Italians, how was he holding up out there?

_The fuck do I care for? We ain't never been best friends or nothing._

They'd only been roomies for a day. Granted, they'd had a good talk last night, but that didn't make them compadres. He shivered against the chill in the air. (He could really use one of those thin as shit blankets right now.) Peter had been real with him about what had happened to him. About his meds and recovery. About his true feelings about Pancamo. You didn't find that kind of open honesty here in Oz.

Miguel had found himself reacting to Peter's story, feeling major resentment for the crew that refused to avenge their fallen member. Rape should never go unpunished. Sick fucks should be dealt with in the worst way.

If he still had juice, he'd waste Schillinger right now. Adebisi was already dead so whatever.

If he was still somebody, he would avenge Peter.

For the next few hours or at least what could have been hours since there was no true concept of time in this cold, dark Hell, he entertained thoughts of finishing off the Nazi leader for good. Shank, fire, strangulation… But truth be told Miguel had never really possessed the heart of a killer. The blood on his hands had been self-defense.

_Too white._

He shifted uncomfortably at El Cid's words so long ago. Words that had ultimately led him to where he sat today. Or tonight. Whenever.

If he hadn't been "too white" too clean, maybe he wouldn't have had to prove himself to El Norte's head at the time. Maybe that hack Rivera could've kept his eyes…

_Don't think about that._

So he didn't. His mind reflected back to his podmate. He hoped those fucks out there weren't bothering him too bad. He hoped that he was holding up. Not that Miguel cared or anything but…it was nice to have someone to talk to. Like McManus said, they did have a lot in common.

"Grub time!"

He barely noticed the hack that brought his food. Hell he barely noticed the food. He was grateful, however for the water. Seemed McManus had awarded him an extra large bottle. They never gave inmates bottled water. Then again, McManus was pulling for him.

His mouth still bloody and dry from the beating earlier, Miguel swallowed most of it in one sitting. Nice and cool. He sighed out loud. At least one thing had gone good today. Now to wait it out through the night. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep.

Five minutes later Miguel was falling over, his eyes locked shut in slumber…unaware of the footsteps entering his cell.


	9. The Infirmary

"Fifteen minutes is all I can give you," Armstrong hissed.

"You get caught and it's the both of our asses."

"Thirty."

The CO glared.

"Hey, you want McManus to find out where you were during the riot? What business you were conducting?"

The officer knew he was beat.

"Thirty minutes then that's it. No more favors."

"Gotcha."

"No injuries that can't be ruled self-harm, you understand?"

Cold and lustful eyes rested on the sleeping body of Miguel Alvarez.

"Understood."

* * *

"Count!"

As Murphy made the rounds that morning he noted nothing out of the usual. Inmates were grouchy, sluggish, some with sleep crusted in their eyes but they stood where they should. Did as told. It was just another day in Em City.

Until he came across Peter Schibetta. The kid was a mess. He was pale as a sheet, his hair was disheveled, his eyes were red. His arms were folded across his chest, covering himself, hands buried in his pits. Most likely to hide that they were shaking. Murphy had seen it before.

"You coming down with something?" he asked.

Before the Sicilian could answer one of the Homeboys snorted.

"Yea, the 'missing my brown cinnamon' blues."

Murphy ignored him but saw Peter visibly tense. He was falling apart.

"Me? No, I'm good," he perpetrated.

Murphy shook his head, seeing through the act.

"After count I'm taking you to the infirmary."

Schibetta didn't protest, another indication that he wasn't well. After settling everything Murphy returned to the cell to march the inmate off to see Dr. Nathan. Possibly Sister Peter Marie. Schibetta waited until they were away from Em City and the other inmates to speak.

"When is Alvarez coming back?"

His voice was soft, almost pleading. Murphy was growing more convinced that this was a Sister Pete case than a Dr. Nathan one.

"Not sure yet," he decided to be honest.

"But most likely within the week. Looks like he was defending himself but he broke a rule. That's why he's in there."

Schibetta nodded his understanding.

"You two seem to be getting along well at least," Murphy noted.

Schibetta shrugged.

The infirmary was rather slow that day which was always a good thing. He stood with Peter awaiting the doctor when he heard shouting in Spanish from her office. A male shouting that sounded a lot like—

"Miguel?" Peter moved forward but Murphy blocked him.

"Stay here!"

The CO rushed to the door, ready for what he might face on the other side. Alvarez wasn't known to play with a full deck. Who knew what he was walking into. Ready for action, he shoved the door open.

Dr. Nathan stood behind her desk but Tim was almost centered in the room, his hands out in a nonthreatening gesture. The kind one might use to calm a feral dog. It was Alvarez who he'd come for, however so Sean focused on him.

The Latino looked worse than Schibetta. His eyes were wild. His face was scratched up from the altercation yesterday. There was a large bruise near his temple, dark and purple. His lip was dry and cracked open, bloody and swollen. Though he wore a t-shirt and sweats at the moment, more bruises showed on his arms. The bikers had done a number on him.

"…deep breaths Miguel, you're going to be fine. You're safe here…" Tim was saying calmly.

But Murphy's arrival startled the Latino and his eyes shot toward the door.

"You need me in here?" he asked his best friend.

Tim shook his head.

"No, it's okay. We were just talking."

Alvarez's eyes darted between the two. If he hadn’t broken he was going to real soon. Sean didn’t want to take the risk that Gloria or Tim would be caught in that so he stood his ground.

But out of respect for his friend's wishes he didn't enter further.

"Safe? In Oz?" Alvarez remarked, worked up.

Then he railed on in Spanish again. Gloria attempted to say something, being the only person in the room who understood a word he was speaking but he was too far gone. He'd backed against the wall now, pointing a finger accusingly at the three of them.

_He's going to snap._

Alvarez grabbed a handful of his own hair, his eyes losing focus.

Okay, it was time to start evacuating the room. Sean stepped aside, gesturing to the doctor. She saw him, seemed to agree but just as she started to ease toward him Murphy's other charge squeezed through the space intended for her.

On instinct Murphy reached to stop Schibetta from entering. That was when Alvarez regained his focus.

"Don't fucking touch him!"

The three employees halted. Schibetta moved in closer to the Latino, stepping past their unit manager without a glance. The two inmates' eyes locked and Murphy saw the wild look replaced by one just as intense but protective.

No one spoke even as Schibetta stopped only an arm's length away.

"You alright?" it was Alvarez who had the audacity to ask the question.

Schibetta nodded.

"Can we have a minute?" the Italian requested.

Sean glanced at Tim. He was in charge here. His friend responded by gesturing for the others to file out.

"Sure. We'll be outside if you need."

Outside the door, he shut it for privacy then stepped away before beginning their conversation. Dr. Nathan was pensive when she spoke.

"We need to schedule him a visit with Sister Pete. He's clearly not over the trauma of what happened to him. I don't know why you brought him to me instead of her."

McManus sighed.

"How can you look at him and still ask that?"

"You know what I mean. I cared for those injuries yesterday. It's his mental state I'm concerned about."

"The way he was staring into space I thought maybe he had a concussion or something. You saw he was calm when I brought him in."

"Clearly that's not the case now."

That was Sean's cue to chime in.

"He's hanging by a thread. That kid was maybe a minute away from flying off."

"If Schibetta hadn't showed up," Dr. Nathan said thoughtfully.

"What was he doing here anyway?" she asked.

"He looked bad at count. I didn't know if he was sick or something happened to him."

Tim nodded approvingly at his decision.

"I can check him out when they're done in there," the doctor reasoned.

"But I'm serious about Miguel. When he was talking in there he kept going back to what happened. He said that he can't even close his eyes without people…getting at him no matter where he is."

They didn't have to guess what "getting at him" meant.

"Given what happened that's to be expected but Miguel has his other issues to compound that. I'm worried for him. About what he'll do to himself if he's left completely alone again."

They were all in agreement there. His stint in solitary had included multiple suicide attempts.

"I never wanted him in the hole, especially after what happened. But Lopresti found a knife on him."

Tim folded his arms under his chest. Murphy knew he was beating himself up for allowing the kid to stay overnight.

"I don't see you had any choice," Gloria murmured.

Sean glanced back at the closed office door wondering what was being said on the other side.

"I can't be the only one that noticed how Schibetta got him to settle down so easy," he remarked.

Tim nodded in agreement.

"They do seem to have developed a bond."

"Seem to? Did you hear how Alvarez almost tore my head off when I tried to push Schibetta back? I don't know what to make of it."

"Maybe you had the right idea rooming them together," Gloria said smiling at Tim.

Sean knew his friend well enough to recognize the stitch of pride at the compliment.

"I guess we'll just have to see."

* * *

Miguel hadn't felt right when he'd woken up. Groggy, almost like a hangover but not really nauseous. He'd shaken his head, trying to remember where he was, why he was so cold and…

It was a stinging feeling, almost rug burn but just raw, sensitive. In his ass. He couldn't mistake the feeling it was so foreign to him. More so than that time in the laundry room. Back then it had been lingering but now it was rougher.

He reached his hand back, touched the bottom of his cheeks. No greasy feeling. Nothing wet. No excess lube.

But inside, that was where it stung.

_No, no no otra vez!_

He still hurt all over from the beatdown the bikers and Lopresti had rendered but that didn't stop him from scrambling to his feet. Bruises decorated his torso, arms and legs, their color setting in dark. He inspected himself the best he could, not knowing what he was looking for but praying he wouldn't find it. Praying he was wrong, that what he was feeling "back there" wasn't real. But it felt pretty fucking real. He dared to touch the tender hole itself. And came away with a tinge of pink on his finger tip.

That was when he'd zoned out.

McManus had come to see him at some point. Taken him to Dr. Nathan for his visible injuries. But Miguel hadn't told him about his latest. Couldn't bring himself to admit that once again someone had made him a bitch.

_Nunca seguro. Solitario, solo, nunca jodidamente seguro!_

The more questions the doctor asked, the more McManus promised that he was going to be alright, the more Miguel realized that nothing was alright, that he would never be alright, that somewhere God was looking down, laughing at him saying Look at the maricon! Who's going to fuck him up the ass tonight?

He wasn't no fucking prag. But to somebody he was. Somebody faceless, nameless, with the juice to get in and out of wherever he pleased at Oz. Wherever, including his ass apparently.

Somebody like…

The door came open and Murphy was standing there.

"You need me in here?"

McManus was saying something, telling another lie about safety. He was always so cocky with it. Like he really knew what was happening at Oz. Like he had any inkling of what inmates or hacks did when he wasn't looking. The blood they shed, the tits they sold, asses they raped... McManus didn't know shit!

He started to say as much when Peter showed up. That hack Murphy actually put his hands on him and Miguel felt his anger shift on the Italian's behalf.

"Don't fucking touch him!"

Murphy backed off, allowing Peter to come closer to him. Miguel watched his roommate, inspecting him for any damage those fucks in Em City might have done while he was away. Peter understood what he was doing and had no objections.

"Can you give us a minute?" the Italian had always had a soft tone.

It was a relief when the hacks agreed. A surprise when they actually shut the door behind themselves. Alone, the two inmates stared at each other. He didn't know why but he found comfort in that.

"What are you in for?" he finally asked.

Peter held his gaze.

"Murphy thought I looked sick."

He kind of did.

"You do. You didn't get any sleep did you?"

"That obvious, huh?" Peter chuckled.

Miguel almost smiled back.

"I got too much."

Schibetta just nodded, looking over the all too noticeable bruises on his arms and face. He frowned, as if seeing Miguel's injuries somehow hurt him.

"Those redneck fucks. They should be in bodybags for this," he murmured in that quiet way of his.

He noted the mark at Miguel's temple. For a second it looked like he was going to reach up to touch it. Miguel's entire body tensed uneasily.

The touch never happened.

Instead Peter met his eyes with understanding. He would never touch him without permission. He got it. Something odd hit the Latino then, something he never expected to feel again within the gray prison walls of the Oswald Penitentiary. He'd had it briefly but lost it the second his grandfather had died. Thought he'd found it with El Norte until Hernandez had shown up. That feeling like—like somebody cared. Somebody actually gave a damn. About him. Connection. A bond.

_Familia._

By the time the hacks returned Miguel's heart had slowed to normal; he felt grounded somehow with Peter there. He still refused to sit down, however, unwilling to admit what had happened to him again. To have it happen once could be a fluke but twice guaranteed prag status. He wasn't a fucking prag.

"I'm sending you back to your pod," McManus said half sitting at the edge of Dr. Nathan's desk.

"It's obvious you were only defending yourself. But the knife thing can't happen again, you understand?"

Yea the fuck right.

"Yea."

The unit manager glanced at Peter.

"Dr. Nathan's going to check you out while I talk to Miguel for a bit."

His first instinct was to object, he even found himself reaching for the Sicilian to keep him close but quickly caught himself. Peter likewise was reluctant to leave, glancing over at him. Murphy took his arm, however and guided him out. Miguel didn't like that the hack put his hands on his new familia but kept his silence. Facing the remaining hack, he rested his shoulder against the farthest wall attempting casual.

"You want to talk about what happened this morning?" McManus began.

He didn't.

"Look, Miguel I'm really trying here."

Fine. The young Latino sighed. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. He could say nothing but he had a feeling the hack wouldn't go for it this time. He was already looking at him with that stubborn "I'm going to help you even if I have to kill you" look. It was pretty arrogant really. Or just stupid. Because nobody could be helped in Oz.

"I had a bad night," he murmured.

McManus waited for more.

"I got my ass kicked then had to sleep in the cold," Miguel defended his statement.

"It was a bad night."

The unit manager seemed to soften slightly.

"Nightmares?”

Miguel rolled his eyes. He honestly didn't remember dreaming last night. Or even going to sleep.

"Earlier you were saying that you weren't safe? Dr. Nathan translated for us. Is that why you were upset? Have you been experiencing flashbacks or memories of what happened?"

Leave it to the head hack to keep bringing that up.

"I can protect myself. I ain't no _maricon_."

McManus folded his arms.

"Not with more knives or weapons, Miguel. I mean it. If you keep getting sent to the hole and I keep pulling you out it's not going to look too good. Eventually I'd have to let you stay—"

The ache in his rear, the blood on his fingers, the very real risk of lying naked and trapped for some fuck's satisfaction hit him at once and Miguel panicked.

"No-no _por favor_ don't send me back there!"

He was off the wall, his heart jackhammering in his chest as he approached the unit manager.

"I'll be a fucking model inmate. Do my work duty, clean my pod—I swear!"

"Miguel—"

"No more fights. If I see the bikers coming I'll go the other way. Fuck, just don't send me back!"

He didn't realize he'd actually grabbed the older man by the arms until McManus cleared his throat. Miguel blinked. This was the closest he had ever come to a hack without a restraint or an ass beating taking place.

_Don't think about Rivera._

They were face to face, eye to eye. His fingers had a tight grip on the unit manager's biceps, enough to turn his own knuckles white.

"Shit!"

He was sure to get sent back now! He had to make it right. Dropping his hands, Miguel backed away for damage control.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—I wouldn't—I mean you been so good to me keeping shit quiet, and Peter and the water—I was just bugging."

McManus was staring at him oddly. He was probably going to send him to solitary this time. Even worse. Fuck!!

"What water Miguel?"

The unit manager stood, his brows furrowed. His eyes were watching the Latino too close.

Was I not supposed to mention it? Or did he forget?

"Last night. The bottled water you sent with dinner."

McManus shook his head.

"I didn't send any water. Especially not a bottle. Who told you I sent you water?"


	10. Suspicions

He hadn't sent the water. So why would they lie? More importantly who had sent it? He didn't believe Miguel was crazy, well Miguel _was_ off but that had been dealt with via his meds. He certainly hadn't hallucinated since Peter Marie had written that prescription a while back. And even then he'd been seeing traumas from his past such as his dead baby not random items like a bottle of water.

Tim McManus studied the inmate before him. Wide and paranoid Latin eyes stared his way. When they made eye contact he saw it. Miguel was afraid.

_He's just a kid._

Not as young as Wangler had been, Miguel was legally an adult, but he was barely that when he'd been initially incarcerated. Now he still hadn't even seen a quarter of a century yet.

"Miguel," he repeated, "who said that I sent you water?"

Alvarez opened his mouth. Started to speak. Paused. Then clammed up. He crossed his arms over his chest as if suddenly cold. His eyes found the floor. Something was going on with him, Tim could see it plain as day but he'd seen enough to know when an inmate shut down. Miguel was shutting down.

"I'm going to set you up to see Sister Pete, okay?" he said quietly.

"Then you can go back to your pod."

Miguel didn't look up at him.

"If anything jogs your memory you know where to find me."

He released him to Dr. Nathan who inspected his bruises, treated his cuts. By the time she was finished Sister Pete had arrived. She shot Tim a quick reminder of her disapproval of his handling of the issue but thankfully said nothing. Wishing to keep it that way, Tim headed back to his office. He would talk to Rebadow. Now. Then he would see who was on duty last night.

He wasn't sure what it was about Miguel that troubled him so much today. Maybe his demeanor, he'd been all over the place. From catatonic to agitated to desperate within the span of an hour. But his eyes when Tim had hinted at leaving him in the hole… poor kid looked ready to die.

_That's it. He's never going in there again. Fuck what Sean said._

He'd just have to find another form of punishment. Something that wouldn't break the already fragile inmate like this did.

Sean had escorted Schibetta back to the unit while he was still in with Miguel. Tim quickly spotted the Italian sitting at the round table with Pancamo's crew. His eyes kept watching the gates. Waiting. For Alvarez no doubt. When he noticed Tim look back at him he caught himself and turned to D'Angelo.

That was a huge change from pre-rape Schibetta. The once cocky kid couldn't even look him in the eye. Despite his counseling he would never be the person he was before. Applying that reality to Miguel left Tim with a sourness in the pit of his stomach.

"Rebadow, can I see you in my office for a moment?"

The old man was seated with his own group, Busmalis, Beecher, Hill. Keller was leaning a little too close to Beecher but straightened with a smirk when he was caught.

"Me?" Rebadow repeated surprise in his tone.

Tim nodded, gesturing for him to follow him upstairs. He didn't glance back until he was in his office, shutting the door behind them.

"Have a seat."

He didn't bother walking around his desk. He simply leaned his rear on the front. He was well aware of the intimidation factor of his position. Hovering over the elderly inmate, arms crossed authoritatively. Whatever it took to get the truth about what had happened to Miguel.

"I need you to tell me what you saw the day of the riot. Outside the laundry room specifically. And you're not leaving this office until you do."

* * *

"I gotta piss," Peter announced.

Not even looking up from his cards, Pancamo gestured for Joey to follow him.

"Use my toilet," their leader instructed.

Because his and Miguel's pod was upstairs, Peter didn't argue, but inside it stung a little more. On top of being escorted to the bathroom, now he was being told where to piss. He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. He truly was nothing anymore.

Miguel didn't make him feel like nothing.

He played back their encounter in the infirmary, every detail he could remember about his podmate. He'd looked awful, bruised and beaten. Especially that mark at his temple. But it was his eyes that had Peter's heart clenching. That familiar sense of feeling unsafe and dehumanized. Miguel hadn't held up well in the hole.

_It was a punishment for both of us._

Because being without his _familia_ had taken a toll on him as well. Would he be going back in? After Dr. Nathan was done with him?

"D'Angelo, over here!"

One of the hacks. Joey glanced from the doorway just as Peter stood over the toilet and began relieving himself. "Now!"

Joey motioned for Peter to stay where he was before heading off to meet the CO. That left him alone in Pancamo's pod for the time being.

_No worries. Nobody's bold enough to come in Chucky's space without his permission._

Pancamo was at least still somebody. He sighed, lowering his guard enough to drift back to Miguel and his conversation. The way he'd flinched when he'd thought Peter would touch him. His Latino friend had definitely been violated. But he wasn't going to admit it.

Wrapped up in the memory, Peter didn't notice when he was no longer alone.

"Slick moves today."

Ryan O'Reily's amused tone startled him so that he lost his aim. He managed to spray both the tank and the wall before catching himself and finishing off in the toilet bowl.

"What the fuck O'Reily?!"

He tucked himself away before turning to glare at the Irishman.

"Relax, I'm not the Homeboys," O'Reily snickered.

"I don't want anything you got."

Peter's heart was at a gallop due to the scare. He tried to hide the tremor in his hands by washing them. Much to his chagrin, O'Reily noticed.

"The fuck are you doing here then?" he snapped.

O'Reily was wearing that sly grin of his. Peter had never trusted him. He'd gotten close to his father not too long before his death. When word spread that Adebesi had killed him, O'Reily had been too eager to extend that information. He was a rat. And as Peter had stated back then even a rat knew when to abandon a sinking ship.

"Just wanted to chat. About a friend."

Peter dried his hands on his pants, still glaring.

"Any friend of yours ain't a friend of mine," he remarked.

He attempted to bypass the mick but O'Reily blocked his way. The Irish bastard was much taller than he was… Without realizing, Peter backed away. His shirt felt hot all of a sudden as he tried to swallow down that something that had plagued his dreams for the past three years.

_Show no fear. Show no fear. Show no—_

"You let me be the judge of that," O'Reily countered.

He advanced just one step and Peter instinctively retreated.

"Murphy. What's your deal with him?"

The Italian blinked.

"Murphy? The hack Murphy?"

"No Eddie Murphy. Of course the hack Murphy. What've you and Alvarez got going with him?"

Confusion pierced his fear as Peter stared.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. I saw him take you after count. Not to mention his little pow-wows with your bunk buddy. You got something worked out with him?"

Was he serious? Or delusional?

"Something like what?"

The crafty Irishman leaned in.

"You tell me," he whispered.

But there was nothing to tell. At least on Peter's end. Murphy had thought he didn't look well. That was the extent of their "deal." He wasn't even aware of anything between the hack and Miguel. Certainly not secret pow-wows.

"Nothing to tell. He just took me to the infirmary. I wasn't feeling good."

O'Reily didn't believe him.

"Uh huh."

He didn't move. The young Sicilian felt that tremor again. He didn't like this proximity. This whole manner of questioning. Not so much the words but the intimidating manner in which his interrogator kept closing in on him. The mick knew what he was doing. He knew how uncomfortable it made him. Yet he still advanced.

"Listen," O'Reily had him literally backed against the wall now.

Peter could no longer hide the quaking as the taller man had the gall to touch his face. Flashes of Schilinger, of Robson's hands pinning him down, pale Aryan hands touching him against his will…His eyes burned, his body locked. Cold fear gripped him by the soul.

"Murphy," he repeated.

But Peter couldn't find his voice. His lips opened but a strangled sound of defeat came out.

By some miracle O'Reily pulled away.

"Jesus Schibetta, I'm not a fucking rapist."

He had the audacity to be offended.

"I want to _kick_ your ass not _fuck_ it you prag!"

Oddly enough that was a relief. Though to be honest the mick was probably the last person to rape anyone after what Schillenger did to his brother. Peter's mind knew this but that didn't stop his body's reaction.

"Just tell me about Murphy and I'm out of your hair."

But there was nothing to tell about Murphy. Not that Peter could do much talking at the moment anyway.

"He… took me… infirmary."

Fuck it was hard to breathe. O'Reily shot him one last lookover before cursing under his breath and leaving the pod.

Joey wasn't back yet. In the distance he could see a hack standing before Chucky, blocking his view. What perfect timing…

Peter closed his eyes, sank down to the floor. He buried his face in his knees. He didn't want to lose it. He swore he wouldn't. Not in front of these guys. Not in Em City. He'd be eaten alive. But it was too much. The bikers, the homeboys, O'Reily…he couldn't take it. Not without his _familia_. Not without—

"Yo Alvarez, what the fuck you doing out of the hole?"

Peter shot to his feet, rushed the pod door to see that yes, Miguel was back. Wearing that usual scowl he entered the gates, glanced around with dark and unruly eyes. Peter stared until he caught his eye. For a moment they were locked, joined at the retina. He'd never felt safer in his whole time at Oz.

The moment was cut short when someone made a kissing noise. Alvarez shook it off and headed for their pod. Instinctively, Peter moved to follow.

"Yo, yo where are you going?"

The hack had finished his business with Joey around the time O'Reily had finished his business with Peter. Interesting.

"My pod."

"That ain't wise. Stay with us down here."

But he wanted to be with Miguel. Needed to be with him now more than ever.

"No."

He dodged Joey's arm (reaching to yank him back to the table he was sure) and practically ran up the stairs. In the pod he found Miguel preparing for a shower.

"I was worried they wouldn't let you out," he confessed as the Latino disrobed.

He battled the urge to throw his arms around him. To beg him never to leave him alone in this Hell again.

Miguel shucked his shirt off, revealing darker, nastier bruises on his chest and abdomen.

"I was defending myself so they cut me a break."

Peter was pleased to note that Miguel sounded better than he had in the infirmary. But there was still something off.

"Alvarez? You sure you're okay?"

Funny his asking that considering what had just happened downstairs. He wasn't even sure if he himself was okay. But Miguel was a little twitchy, he could feel his unrest. His roomie looked at him as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

"I just need a fucking shower," he confided all honesty in his eyes.

"To get the stink off, you know."

Peter knew.

"From the hole," Miguel added.

Right. The hole. He watched his roommate leave, followed his trek all the way down to the showers.

_Something happened to you, Miguel. Did the hole trigger those memories?_

He remembered the haunted look that night when Miguel had questioned him. The look that confirmed that yes he had been violated at some point during his stay. Miguel wouldn't share that vulnerability with anyone. But he'd shared it with him.

The look Peter saw just now when Miguel mentioned the shower was similar but fresher. Had something also happened to him while he was in the hole?

Maybe that was why McManus had him in Dr. Nathan's office. That was why he'd been flipping out. That was what he needed to clean off his body, that stench, that shame, that feeling that Peter knew far too well.

Miguel disappeared in the shower room. He'd left his clothes piled by his bed. Without giving himself a chance to rethink it, Peter was on Miguel's bunk rifling through the pile. Miguel's scent was certainly present, yea he'd needed the shower, but smell wasn't what Peter was looking for. He found his boxers inside the pants, opened them up to reveal a small hint of color that he'd suspected. It wasn't a lot, it hadn't even bled through to the joggers but it was there. And it was blood. Miguel's blood.

"What you folding his laundry now?"

Peter glanced up to find both Joey and Donny entering the pod without invitation. He quickly balled up Miguel's pants and kicked them under the bed.

"Fuck off Joey."

Donny sighed.

"Petey, what are you doing to us? To yourself? You go running after Alvarez two seconds after he's back and now you're folding his clothes? You his wife now?"

It was one thing for Joey to say it, he was kind of a ballbuster anyway but Donny had been his _pisan_.

"Fuck you, I'm not a fucking fag!"

"You could have fooled me," Joey remarked.

Peter jumped to his feet, frustrated, angry, betrayed.

"You got some nerve talking all this shit when you weren't even there! None of you had my back, not with Adebisi, not with Schillinger and his fucking Nazis. Now you want to ride Miguel's ass for doing what you fucks couldn't?"

Joey rolled his eyes.

"We ain't the ones trying to ride that spic."

Donny held up a hand to shush him.

"Look, I'm sorry Petey but the Adebesi thing was your fuck up. You were in charge. You set that up and you and Pancamo got beat. Did you ask me to be there? No. Joey or anybody else? No. You went in half-cocked and got taken down.

"And the Aryans? Shit I told you to stand down and wait for Pancamo. You're the one who ran off by your fucking self and tried to take him on. Again, your fuck up. You can't blame us for that."

It was like being stabbed in the chest. _His_ fault? Was Donny, a guy he'd come up with, seriously saying that it was _his_ _fault_ that he'd been raped?

"Get the fuck out of my pod."

He wanted to scream, to charge, to beat the living shit out of both of his so-called _pisans_ for even thinking that any of this was on him. He clenched his fist, glared like hell, bit down on his lower lip until he tasted salt.

"Come on Petey you know we can't—"

"Get the fuck out my pod!"

He was shoving Donny, who was closer and whose words had hurt him most. His old _pisan_ seemed surprised so much so that he didn't fight back. Instead he motioned to Joey to let it go and the two left the pod without another word.

But Peter's shouting had gotten the attention of the hacks. Murphy was the first to show up followed by Mineo and another.

"There a problem here?" Murphy asked.

The Italians shook there heads, turning and leaving the scene. Despite his shallow breaths, Peter too shook his head.

"No problem," he agreed.

He just wanted to be alone suddenly. Murphy squashed that hope.

"Schibetta, outside. Let's take a walk."

Having no choice, he followed the CO out of the pod down the stairs to exit Em City. Still burning from Donny's words he tried to hold his head high. But his eyes were starting to sting. Fuck!

He ignored Pancamo's disapproving gaze, likewise the amused and curious ones from other inmates. O'Reily was watching as well, an unreadable look in his eyes. Peter couldn't muster the energy to care.

It wasn't until they were outside, until they were alone in the dark hall that he broke. His knees buckled, his hands shielded his face. And for the first time since he'd left the psych ward Peter bawled like a fucking bitch.


	11. Nosy Irish

He wasn't sure how to handle this situation. Though Sean had been a CO for years he wasn't used to inmates breaking down so openly as Schibetta was right now. Typically they lashed out—like Alvarez had. Hell even Beecher had cried in the "privacy" of his own cell. But this kid was on the floor, on his knees, his face behind his hands. Shit, this was more Tim's thing than his. Where was Sister Pete when you needed her?

"Hey…"

He pat the sobbing man's shoulder awkwardly.

"Come on, let's get you off the floor."

He was able to get the inmate up and usher him to the nearest room—ironically it was the former rehearsal room for Tim's last pet project Omar White. Another loose cannon, Tim had managed to get him to channel his energy into singing. The problem was he couldn't stop and was driving everyone—COs and inmates alike—nuts. So Tim had set him up here for an hour a day to annoy the cockroaches and dust bunnies.

"Here, sit down. Take a minute to get yourself together."

When he pulled out the chair the inmate sat and again buried his face in his hands. Murphy kept his distance but remained close enough in case the kid tried to off himself. His experienced eyes surveyed the room for potential weapons. After a while Schibetta seemed to calm down. Sniffling he wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt.

"Fuck, I didn't mean to do this."

Sean glanced over at him.

"You looked like you needed a break."

The Italian took in a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Collecting himself.

"I guess I did," he laughed drily.

"Thanks by the way. For noticing. Most hacks don't give a fuck, you know."

He knew.

"You good to go now? Or do you need another minute?"

Schibetta took another breath.

"Maybe a couple more."

Sean watched him, gauging his demeanor. Good call.

"So what's with you and O'Reily?" Schibetta asked after a moment.

That caught him by surprise.

"I'm assuming you mean Ryan," the CO remarked.

Cyril wasn't even worth discussing. He was literally a child in a man's body.

"But I don't know what you mean," he added.

"Or why you would even ask."

It was an odd question. He didn't spend any extra time with O'Reily or offer any favors. In fact after twice removing Schibetta from Em City Sean began to worry that people might assume as much about him and the young former mob boss. But O'Reily?

"You asking because we're both Irish?" he suspected.

Race was everything here in Oz. And with there being more of certain groups than others incarcerated, it wasn't far fetched for prisoners to expect a little loyalty from guards of the same persuasion.

"I'm asking because he was asking about you. I don't know what the fuck his problem is but he seems to think me and Alvarez got something going with you."

Leave it to O'Reily to draw that conclusion.

"O'Reily is full of shit," was all he offered.

Better not to entertain a rumor. But he would have to let Tim know that inmates were noticing with Miguel.

"I uh, think I'm okay."

"You sure? I can swing you by Sister Pete's to schedule an appointment."

"Nah, I have one with her tomorrow."

Sean watched the shaky inmate rise, run his fingers through his hair. He hadn't even been out of the psych ward for a week and he was already breaking. It didn't look like he was going to make it.

If things kept on the way they were, Alvarez might join him. This last trip to the hole had loosened another screw in the Latino's head.

_Tim won't want to hear that._

He opened the door, let Schibetta step past him. Too bad. His friend would have to hear it. One thing about this field; the truth tended to be ugly. Oftentimes people just couldn't be helped.

"Murphy," Lopresti greeted him as he walked by escorting Timmy Kirk to wherever.

Despite his recent issues with Tim, Len had always been alright to Sean so he greeted him back.

He and Schibetta didn't speak the entire way back to the unit.

* * *

The shower wasn't enough but it was better than wearing that touch. Whoever it had been, his sweat, his juices all over him. Probably inside him too. Miguel had scrubbed as hard as he could. It aggravated his other injuries, he actually opened up a cut or two but he didn't stop until he'd been over everything at least three times. When he left the shower he noticed the eyes on him—Italian eyes that wanted to pound him into the ground. Yea thanks to that fucking hack the other night.

Miguel was sure to give them an unbothered glare back. To say "fuck you, I got bigger things to deal with." Which was true. He had to find out who had taken his ass not once but twice now. That is, if it was only one person.

He arrived at his pod to find O'Reily waiting for him. Leaning against Peter's bunk. No Peter in sight.

"What the fuck are you doing in my pod? Where's Schibetta?"

The mick straightened to his full height.

"Ask your friend Murphy. He took him out for a walk."

The tone was accusatory, his words bearing another meaning. Miguel didn't have time for mind games.

"Man, get the fuck out of here."

Miguel pushed past him to get to his things. He found a t-shirt and black jogging pants to wear. He was all out of clean underwear.

"I'm not playing around Alvarez, you're going to tell me what you and Schibetta got going with Murphy. I know it ain't tits but it's something. What, drugs from the infirmary? Contraband?"

"You got an active imagination O'Reily."

"He's awful protective of Schibetta today. The wop pragging for the hacks now?"

Despite the height difference, Miguel was in his face.

"You fucking talk about him like that again and see what I do!"

O'Reily raised an eyebrow coolly.

"Let me guess, you'll hit me right? Sure you will. Then we'll both be sent to the hole. Only you'll come out in one day thanks to your hack-in-a-pocket while I'm stuck there for a month. Thanks but no thanks."

O'Reily shoved him away.

"I'm telling you one last time," Miguel felt his rope about to snap.

"Leave my fucking pod."

The mick gave him a look, not too friendly but actually moved this time.

"I'm going to find out, Alvarez. You believe that. And when I do, you're going to wish you'd cut me in."

Whatever. Grimy ass fuck. Miguel waited until he was gone before dressing. He wondered where Murphy had taken Peter. Uneasy, he stepped out to the balcony for a look around. The Latinos were split between Morales's pod and a table downstairs. The homeboys were goofing off by the television. The Muslims were probably in the library. He ignored the Sicilians. Pancamo had already given him a look and moved on but that damn D'Angelo wouldn't give it a rest.

Miguel extended his observations toward the hacks. Always watching but managing to miss whenever something actually went down. Like in the laundry room…

At least Lopresti wasn't around.

He glanced up at McManus's office. The door was shut, the blinds down. Who did he have in there? The witness he'd been babbling about?

Shiiiiit, even if there was a witness he wouldn't narc to McManus. Not if he valued his own life. No, if Miguel wanted answers he'd have to dig himself.

_Who knows everything that goes on in this shithole?_

One person.

He found their usual table, saw Busmalis joking with Beecher. Where the fuck was Rebadow? Further scanning of the unit turned up no result. He wasn't here.

Or he was.

Miguel looked back to McManus's office. Was the old man in there? Didn't matter. If he was then Miguel would catch up to him later. When he was less conspicuous. Too many people seemed to be curious, watching him even now.

Nosy _putas._

Concentrating on his dilemma, Miguel went back to lie on his bed. He did so gingerly, still sore. Could the goofy old fart have the missing link he needed? Could he really lead him to the sick fuck who'd done… _that_ to him?

_The laundry room ain't far from his pod._

If he'd seen anyone lingering around then at the least Miguel would have a real suspect—a clue. That might solve the first case... but what about last night?

An inmate couldn't just stroll into the hole without having a hack involved. And to get a hack to take that kind of risk that inmate had to be bold. And connected. He had to have something to offer.

_If it was an inmate._

That possibility hadn't occurred to him until the hole. Until the water that McManus hadn't sent. An inmate didn't have the power to do that.

_Fuck, what if it really was a hack?_

That would be worse than death. Because if it was an inmate he could do something about it. He could end the raping shit but a hack? He couldn't lay hands on another hack. Not after Rivera.

_Shut up, don't think about that!_

Miguel bit his fist. It couldn't be a hack. _Dios mio_ please don't let it be a hack. But if he wanted the truth then he had to be ready to face it. Whatever it happened to be.


	12. Problem

"Tim we got a problem."

No shit they had a problem. After what Rebadow had told him. But Sean had no way of knowing that yet. So what was his problem?

"What's up," McManus sat up in his seat as the head CO closed the door.

"Inmates are starting to suspect something about Alvarez. O'Reily thinks I'm running crooked for him and Schibetta."

That wasn't good. If they thought Miguel was getting preferential treatment that would make him more of a target.

"Okay, I guess dial it down a bit watching him. I mean, still watch but from a distance."

Murphy nodded.

"But we have another issue, Sean. I talked to Rebadow. He said he didn't see any inmates entering or leaving the laundry room during the riot."

His best friend shrugged.

"So, we had nothing to begin with; we have nothing now."

That was where he was wrong.

"But he saw a couple of COs in the area. Keeping it clear," Tim finished.

His best friend was dumbstruck.

"During the riot?"

"Right before. And after. Keeping a lookout."

"That's insane!"

"Maybe but I trust him. Which means either a CO helped facilitate the rape or committed it himself."

He could tell that Sean was battling with the thought. He'd had the same initial reaction.

"I know we've had guys bust some balls a little but to rape an inmate? I don't know Tim. These guys? I work with them."

Like a rapist couldn't have coworkers.

"I don't like it either," Tim admitted.

"It turns my stomach but we have to consider it. You weren't here when Healy was running drugs. Or with Metzger the Neo-Nazi. We try but sometimes the bad ones slip in."

He hated that it had happened under his watch.

"Well who was it? Who did he see?"

Tim sighed.

"Lopresti before. Armstrong after."

"Fuck, Tim."

"I know. And it gets better. After Miguel said I sent him water last night I checked the schedule to see who was working. Armstrong was on duty."

"And Lopresti?"

"He left at eleven."

"Jesus Christ."

Again, Tim's initial reaction.

"The problem is now we have to launch an official investigation," he explained.

"Which means we're going to have to bring the warden in. And Leo is not going to be happy that we breached protocol. Especially for Miguel Alvarez."

This whole thing was a mess. He would probably still come out with his job, (Leo was a friend of sorts) but it would cost him. Leo's trust for starters. Maybe even a suspension. God forbid a demotion or transfer.

"How do you want to play this?" his best friend asked.

Tim was at a loss.

"What do you mean? I screwed the pooch here. No other way to play it. I'm responsible, I made the call. I'll keep you and Gloria out of it, Mukada and Sister Pete too if they'll allow me. No need for you guys to go down with me."

He wanted to kick himself.

"No, I knew what I was doing. You don't have to protect me, Tim."

He appreciated the sentiment.

"You were just following orders."

"So were the Germans operating the gas chamber. Didn't help their case either."

"Sean—"

"Look you were trying to do a good thing. Maybe not the smartest way but your heart was in the right place. Your intentions were pure…right?"

When he looked up at Murphy he recognized the concern in his countenance.

"What are you getting at?"

His friend shifted, but his eyes didn't waver.

"I've seen you like this before. Caught up in your pride," he recalled.

"You think this is about me? That I'm doing all of this to feed my ego?" he resented the insinuation.

And to be honest was a little hurt that his best friend would think that of him. He hadn't gone into corrections to feed his pride, he'd done so because he wanted to help. To tend to society's broken and forgotten. To shape their lives for the better.

Miguel Alvarez was broken. Tim intended to fix him.

"I think sometimes you want to step in and save the day," Sean remarked.

"So what if I do? What's so wrong with wanting to save people?" he countered.

"There's a difference between saving somebody and being the one to save somebody, Tim."

He didn't get what he meant. Which was fine since Murphy went on to clarify.

"You got Father Mukada, you got Sister Pete both with an established relationship with Alvarez and both don't like how you're handling him. But you won't listen to their opinions even though they know him a lot better than you. They want to help. They want to see him make some type of improvement but for you that's not enough. You have to be the one responsible for his improvements. He gets better but only by your way."

Now that wasn't true!

"What are you talking about? I just sent him to Peter Marie this morning! I never stood in her or Mukada's way."

"I didn't say you did, just that you didn't even hear them out. Look, all I'm saying is to check your motivation. Why are you doing this? Really?"

Sean wasn't arguing his point, just stating how he saw it. He'd always been the cooler head between the two.

"I'm just trying to catch a rapist. And maybe bring Miguel some closure. So he can move on."

It hadn't been a simple task going in and with this new development it would be even more complicated. But not impossible. He sighed his frustration.

"You got it bad for this one," Sean noted, taking a seat at the corner of his desk.

"Better reign it in before it gets out of hand."

The office fell silent as his words sunk in.

"I think it might be too late for that, buddy."

* * *

Surprisingly Miguel made it through the morning without incident. When Peter had returned he'd glimpsed him from the gate but Pancamo himself had cut him off. Peter ended up sitting with them through lunch.

It wasn't until Miss Sally was on that he managed to give his crew the slip. It would only be brief but it was well needed. He caught up to Miguel at one of the back tables, vacated by the Others in favor of the luscious woman onscreen.

"Hey."

He didn't miss the transformation, from guarded and savage to a smile of relief forming in those Latin eyes.

"Hey."

Peter sat down.

"How you holding up?"

Miguel gave him a questioning look.

"From the fight, the hole?" Peter reminded him.

"You looked pretty bad this morning."

"I been through worse."

"Well I'm glad you're back."

Peter full on smiled. He felt a warm quiver when his roomie returned the gesture.

"I heard Murphy dragged you off somewhere," Miguel commented.

"You get in trouble or something?"

Peter shook his head.

"Nah, just needed some air. That Murphy, he's okay. For a hack."

"Yea."

He wanted to stay longer.

"I better get back to the guys. If Chucky catches me over here…well I'll see you at count."

He stood.

"The fuck is D'Angelo's issue?" Alvarez blurted, causing him to pause.

He was glad for the excuse to stay longer.

"Joey can be a dickhead. Part of his charm. Swears he's doing it to protect me."

He glanced back at the crowd at the tv to be sure that Joey hadn't seen him. Pancamo might be the boss but Joey would throw the biggest stink.

"From me," Miguel noted.

Peter met his gaze.

"He thinks he's protecting you from me. Like I'm some kind of fucking rapist or something."

Peter could tell the insinuation royally pissed his friend off.

"More like he thinks I'm such a prag loser that I'm just giving it up to you. Making the crew look weak."

It was the first time he'd admitted it out loud, that his own crew thought so low of him now. To hear himself say it, to relay it to another person—a man who knew exactly what that meant—made it more concrete. He could never recover the dignity he'd lost. Feeling that reality wash over him, Peter's eyes found his feet.

"He say that shit to you?"

They all had in their own way. Some more vocal than others.

"More or less."

"He's supposed to be your _familia_. _Familia_ don't make you feel like shit."

He was offended on Peter's behalf. Like that first night in the pod. Again Peter felt his heart swell with warmth as he looked up at Miguel. Emotion taking him, he spoke before realizing.

"You never make me feel like shit."

He didn't drop his gaze, not when Miguel met it quizzically, surprised, then understanding. He was Peter's _familia_. The declaration had been made. They stared at each other for a long time. Lost, seeking, finding something in the other. Something that they'd both been missing.

"Yea!"

The moment was broken by the cheers of the inmates behind him. Startled, Peter turned to find that Miss Sally was jumping up and down on the screen.

"I better get back," he repeated.

Miguel nodded, his eyes open, unguarded.

"Yea."

When Peter turned away he felt him watching. The attention warmed his soul, all the way to his seat beside Chucky. He dared only one glance back before sitting down. Just in time to see McManus approaching his Latino _familia._

* * *

When McManus took him into his office he knew it wasn't good. He hadn't sent Murphy to do it. Or any other hack for that matter. He'd collected him himself. McManus didn't do that unless there was bad news.

_Shit maybe that exam earlier with Dr. Nathan turned something up. Maybe I got AIDS now._

Miguel's leg bounced uneasily as he sat down. McManus didn't sit behind his desk. He sat in the chair beside him.

_Fuck, I got AIDS and syphilis combined. Probably going to die in a month._

"Miguel, how are you feeling?"

He hated when people asked him that. How the fuck was he supposed to feel after being fucked up the ass twice? Well, nobody knew about the second time.

"Cut the shit, man. If I'm dying just tell me."

He braced himself, nerves shooting off like live wires. He'd always known he would leave Oz in a body bag.

"What? You're not dying. Why would you think that?" McManus asked.

He didn't give an answer.

"Why you got me in here during Miss Sally?" Miguel changed the subject.

The unit manager sighed.

"Well there's something that I have to tell you and I'm sure you're not going to like it," he admitted.

Trepidation was making the Latino antsy.

"Just spit it out already."

His leg wouldn't stop moving.

"Okay. Well there's been a development in your case. I'm still looking into it but it's made things much more complex. Remember when I said that I would keep what happened within our small circle?"

The doctor, the nun, the priest and the two hacks. Plus himself.

"Yea," he remembered.

"It looks like I may have to bring in one more."

McManus had the nerve to look apologetic.

"No fucking way," Miguel told him.

"That shit gets out they'll all be on my ass!"

Or in his ass rather. He couldn't fight them all off.

"Miguel—"

"I'm not pragging to nobody. I'll die first. Swear to God!"

McManus's eyes went round, his palms up.

"It won't come to that. Please just hear me out."

Hear out his plans to turn him into the unit _maricon_?

"Fuck that McManus. You fucking promised!"

"Miguel, lower your voice."

Why bother? His business was going to be out on the block anyway.

"Don't fucking tell me to lower my voice you liar! _Tu mama chupando mentiroso!_ "

He could see it now. Jaz Hoyt and the rest of the bikers surrounding him, doing things that would make Schillinger proud. The homeboys taking the next crack. Then there were the Latinos…

"Listen I'm going to need for you to calm down before—"

McManus was cut off when the door burst open, Murphy leading as three hacks charged in. Miguel was on his feet, ready to swing at the first motherfucker to come his way. That motherfucker happened to be LoPresti, but McManus jumped between them, actually shielding Miguel from the barrage.

"It's okay, It's okay! We were just having a conversation."

The hacks looked ready to toss their comrade aside just to get to him. But McManus stood his ground.

"Stand down, guys."

The hacks didn't move, eyes still focused on Miguel.

_Any excuse to get a piece of me._

"Move it, McManus before that crazy fuck bashes your head in," LoPresti warned.

He looked like he was going to make a move.

"Stand down, that's a fucking order!"

What were they the military?

"You can all leave," McManus wasn't asking.

"I have the situation handled."

Another stand-off. After a minute the other hack started to exit. LoPresti shook his head in disgust but did the same. Murphy followed him to the door. Instead of leaving, however he closed it from inside then turned back to them.

He didn't say anything. Didn't have to. He wasn't going anywhere. McManus groaned, sounding annoyed before he turned to face Miguel again.

"Please, sit down."

But Miguel didn't want to sit. He didn't want to stand. He didn't want to do anything but be anywhere else, be someone else—someone who hadn't had his manhood ripped away facedown in a prison laundryroom or on the cold pissy floor of the hole. It was bad enough that he'd had to fight so hard for his life all these years. Now he was fighting for his ass. (And losing every chance he got.)

_Why me? Why is this raping ass fuck targeting me?_

"Alvarez!" Murphy's firm tone brought him out of his own head.

The hack gestured toward the chair.

"Sit."

Begrudgingly, Miguel complied. McManus resumed his speech.

"I assure you nobody knows how important it is for us to keep this thing quiet as much as I do. I know how the other inmates can be. So does Warden Glenn—"

What was left of his heart dive-bombed to his gut. The warden? The fucking warden?!

" _No puedes decirle! ¡Usará eso contra mí! ¡Me odia!_ "

That bastard had it in for him. He'd fucking revel in this shit.

"We need to extend our investigation," McManus wasn't raising his voice.

"Due to these new leads and we can't do that without the warden. I'm sorry, Miguel. I really am. But you want the people involved to be caught don't you?"

He started to snap back, to ask what the fuck Glenn had to do with that when the words hit him. _People involved_. Not person. Not perpetrator. People. So it had been more than one.

_Had to be to get into the hole..._

Miguel felt nauseous.

"Warden Glenn is the last person to gossip, I can vouch for that. I know you two don't have the best history but…"

What kind of developments could have developed that suddenly made it necessary to bring in the warden? Must be bad. Really bad. But he didn't have AIDS so what could it be?

"…professionalism and tact despite any personal feelings about…"

Maybe he wasn't the first. Maybe a bunch of guys were being ass raped and McManus in his usual clueless way was trying to put his foot down. Nah, guys were always getting ass raped. Had been going on since before Miguel ever set foot in Oz. Why start caring now?

There was something going on here. Whatever these new developments were.

He needed to get to Rebadow and see what he knew.

"You said you had a witness yesterday," Miguel interrupted.

"He saw something, didn't he? He saw who did it?"

McManus hesitated.

"We're not sure. But we have suspects. Which is why Warden Glenn has to be brought in—"

It hit him so abruptly that Miguel almost wretched. The seclusion in the laundry room, the attack in the hole…McManus suddenly needing to bring the warden into the investigation. His suspicions had been right. It was a hack.

But which one?

His mind jumped to every hack he came into contact with in Em City. Had to be one of them because that was where the first time had taken place. The day of the riot.

His eyes shot to Murphy. He'd been there. In fact he'd been the one to find him. Could he be the attacker?

Murphy caught him staring and gave him a stern one right back. Warning him to behave.

What about Mineo? He'd been there that day. So had that black guard, that other one Armstrong and Lopresti…

Fucking Lopresti.

Their last encounter came to mind, when the cocksucker had beat the shit out of him with his baton.

_"..maybe you're snitching on COs...You tell him what you saw? During the riot?"_

The son of a bitch had questioned him about the riot. Taunted him. Then thrown him in the hole where again his ass had been raided.

_"…I suppose you're better suited for folding shorts than leading shit."_

Miguel covered his mouth.

How the fuck did Lopresti know he'd been doing laundry during the riot?! Unless…

_It's him._

It all fit together now. The way he was overly aggressive, he'd thrown Miguel in the hole twice in two days! Even just moments ago he'd been itching to crack his stick over Miguel's skull. (And probably in his ass too.) It was him.

_Te veo, Len Lopesti. Sé quién eres ahora. ¡Estas muerto!_

Lopresti was a dead man.


	13. Danger Lurking

When Miguel left McManus's office both inmate and CO eyes were on him. His yelling had drawn way too much attention. He only scowled, storming off to his pod. Peter watched, wishing to join him, to tend to whatever blow his _familia_ had been dealt in the meeting. But he was seated between Chucky and Joey. And after his stunt earlier they were not having it.

So he remained there, dying inside with each second he couldn't be with him. He couldn't even try to hide it.

_Miguel needs me._

Just as much as he needed Miguel, Peter registered. He knew this now, had figured it out in the infirmary. The way Miguel protected him from physical harm, he could provide Miguel emotional support. Comfort. Love.

 _As familia should_.

"I swear to fucking God Petey!"

Joey was shoving him with his shoulder. Peter fell against Pancamo who shrugged him off in annoyance.

"What?"

"You're fucking staring up there like some needy bitch," Joey spat.

"I'm not some needy bitch."

"Well you been acting like one. Chucky we got to do something before he makes us all look like fags here."

Peter's face burned red at that.

"You want to take care of Alvarez," Pancamo read him.

Peter's heart jumped. He turned to his _pisan_ pleadingly.

"Chucky no—"

"Look at how he's got Petey acting," Joey presented his case.

"It ain't right. We protect our own. We don't let them prag around."

Peter whirled on him.

"Fuck you Joey, I ain't no prag!" he hissed quietly.

No need to garner attention their way. Joey gave him a look full of resentment. Like Peter was the lame duck he had to protect from himself.

"You got a point," Pancamo interrupted the glare-off.

"Petey ain't been right since he got back. And Alvarez ain't never really been right. This whole thing is a blemish on the family."

Peter shot back around toward him.

"No, no I told you he wasn't messing me."

This was all that hack's fault! And Joey just kept it up, making everything worse.

"You act like you want him to. Making eyes, chasing him up to your pod."

"Fuck off Joey."

"Siding with him against us," Joey added.

Siding with him against them? When was Miguel ever against them?

"Miguel got no problem with any of you. How the fuck am I siding with anybody?"

Pancamo's hand on his shoulder shut the debate down.

"Chill out, Petey. I ain't gonna do anything unless I got a reason to."

He leaned in close enough to communicate that this wasn't an act of kindness but a warning. Peter had better straighten up. Fast. Schibetta swallowed, understanding completely.

"In the mean time, I'm getting your pod switched. Supposed to talk about it with McManus later. You'll be rooming with me."

If he could hear his heart it would be plopping at the base of his stomach.

"But you got a roommate."

Seggio.

"He won't mind," Chucky waved it off, glancing across at the man in question.

"Would you?"

Seggio touched his own chest in mock distress.

"Oh how will I sleep without your snoring to keep me warm?"

The crew laughed, even Joey who was still a bit pissy about Miguel. Peter sat back, feeling his world crumbling. He was going to lose Miguel. And just when they needed each other the most. His only hope was that McManus would deny the request. He'd been nice enough to allow Peter and Miguel to be alone in the infirmary. Surely he knew how important they were to each other!

When dinnertime came he forced himself to eat for no other reason than Joey's watchful eye. When count came he did his best not to show his relief at being near his podmate again. Then they were in the pod, the doors shut behind them, locked in for the night.

Chucky hadn't had the chance to talk to McManus. Thankfully he'd been preoccupied with unit business. He'd brushed Chucky off rather rudely. Peter had inwardly smiled.

Now he was alone with Miguel. No one to yank him away, or berate him for daring to look his way.

But his roomie wasn't in a talkative mood. He just stared off, hatred in his eyes at someone not in the room. Someone, Peter was sure, that had to do with the blood in Miguel's boxers earlier.

 _I can't abandon him now_.

He'd have to find a way to talk to McManus and urge him not to heed Chucky's request. Without anyone knowing. Maybe Murphy could help with that? He always seemed to be in his office.

"Sometimes I wish Adebisi was still alive," Peter blurted out.

Miguel snapped out of his fugue state, shock all over his Latin face.

"What?!"

"So I could kill him myself," Peter went on.

"For starting all this. If he'd never done what he did those fucking Aryans wouldn't have…done it too."

Still on his feet, Peter leaned against the bunk. Miguel, lying on his back, stared up at him.

"I imagine how I would do it. How I would make it hurt. What would I say to him? What would the last words he'd ever hear be?"

He breathed in, this confession so personal not even Sister Pete had heard it before.

"You know what he said to me? Before he...he said 'Payday baby.' I remember that, and no matter all the other shit I've heard in my life, all the other shit I forgot, those two words are always in my memory. They're a fucking part of me now.

"So what could I say to him? What words could I possibly say that could burn into his soul the way his did to mine?"

He paused, took another breath and swallowed.

"Guess it doesn't matter either way because I'll never get to say it to him. He's dead."

Except he wasn't because his shadow remained cast over Peter. Being Adebesi's bitch had ultimately made him Schillinger's.

"But the Nazis ain't dead. They're here and everyday I run the chance of seeing one of them bringing in the mail or eating in the cafeteria. It's gonna fucking happen. Only a matter of time. And for all that bravado wishing Adebesi was here so I could stick it to him, Schillinger actually is here but I still won't be able to knock him off. Not yet. But someday."

Miguel didn't speak but a thoughtful expression hit him. Peter climbed up to his bunk then, hoping that his confession had helped some. Sister Pete always said you needed to talk through these things. Maybe if he was open enough Miguel would talk to him. He settled in comfortably when he heard the hushed question.

"What would you say to them? The Nazis in their last moments?"

_"You know I always wondered," Schillinger remarked as he dipped his fingers in the thick black oil for lubrication._ _"Was Adebesi's dick bigger than mine? You be the judge."_

"I'd tell them they can suck Adibesi's dick in Hell."

A light snort from below.

"Beecher said ' _Sieg Heil_.'"

"Well we all can't be as articulate as Beecher," he joked.

Another snort, then shifting.

"I'm glad they stuck us together," he heard Miguel say.

Peter was glad he couldn't see the cheesy smile that remark put on his face.

"Me too, amigo. Me too."

* * *

It was later in the night, shielded under the blanket of darkness that was Oz that he watched the pod for movement. Listened for sounds of any kind. Groaning, whimpering, panting. Sex.

Everyone knew by now that Alvarez was fucking the little prag. Had claimed him the first day they'd started bunking together. It was a surprise to him; he hadn't expected Miguel to be open to man-on-man relations but he supposed like most inmates his acceptance depended on who was doing the poking. Clearly Miguel liked to do the poking.

But he would rather poke the young Latino himself; as he had done not once but twice now.

In a perfect world Miguel would submit. Would recognize who the dominant in their relationship was, (there would definitely be a relationship) and willingly bend over for him. Take to his knees as well. Just the thought of those big brown eyes gazing up at him as he swallowed his cock between full delicious lips…mmm!

But this was not a perfect world. This was Oz. And Miguel Alvarez didn't know the meaning of compliant. His crazy ass would never submit. Which was why he'd had to take an alternative route to attain his young lover.

Now that he'd had a taste, he would need more.

It was hard enough in a facility like this but a few greased palms and whispered dark dealings had gained him access with little trouble. But it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted Miguel awake, to _feel_ him, to know who owned his body. He wanted Miguel to consciously give it.

Isolation was key. The more alone he felt, the more vulnerable his state, the more likely he was to lose his pride. Loneliness and desperation made a man do things he never would.

But that Schibetta was a problem. He did not like to share—especially not with some pussy ass prag princess that needed rescuing. Fluttering his lashes, despite his troop of guinea buddies choosing Miguel to be his fucking white knight.

_Ooh the big scary biker is checking out my ass. Miguel save me!_

He scoffed.

_The homeboys are whistling when I piss, Miguel help!_

Of course Miguel would and had with no hesitation. And based on their little smiles he'd seen them exchange during "Ms. Sally" yesterday, he'd do it again.

Fucking Schibetta. He was in the way. Bitch had to go.


	14. Suspension

Throughout his career Tim McManus had been called a lot of things. A bleeding heart pansy, a white knight wannabe, a clueless liberal, but the one thing he could never be called was a coward. He threw himself into his work-the environment, the blood and the sweat. He'd been shot, stabbed, beaten by inmates once or twice but he'd always come back. He was always willing to be on the frontline. Whatever it took. So facing Warden Glenn over the Miguel Alvarez rape should be a peice of cake, right?

He entered Glenn's office with his head held high despite the groveling he might have to do for his offense. Though he knew there was no love lost between the inmate and the warden, he also knew that his break in protocol could have put the both of their careers at warden wouldn't appreciate the bad publicity if things got out.

"Tim?"

He liked to think that he and his boss had a good relationship. Despite disagreements in the past. Glenn was a fair man.

"I have to talk to you about an inmate. Miguel Alvarez."

He could see the slight tensing in his boss's shoulders as the larger man remained seated.

"What about him?"

Definitely no love lost there.

"Well, something happened to him. During the riot. And I promised him we'd be keeping it under wraps as we investigate it. Not even the COs know about it."

The warden's brows drew together but he let him continue.

"I needed it quiet. Still do, not just for the investigation but for what I'm working on with Miguel. Only now something's come up and I really need to let you know."

"Tim, what exactly are you trying to tell me?" Leo was always a straight forward guy.

McManus sighed, bit the bullet.

"Alvarez was raped. And a CO might have been involved."

Silence. Glenn just staring for a moment. Then he sighed, in exasperation.

"Christ..." he did not sound happy.

"I know, I should have filed the proper reports, went through the proper channels but I couldn't let it get out," McManus admitted.

"It was on a strictly need to know basis-"

"This is _my_ prison, Tim. You didn't think I needed to know?" the warden cut in.

"I was trying to keep it as quiet as possible."

"And what, you think I'd broadcast it on the five o clock news?"

"Leo, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"It was my call to make. You deliberately kept me out of the loop for something that happened in my jurisdiction. I should suspend you for that," Glenn was leaning forward at his desk, his eyes not exactly glaring but peeved nonetheless.

"I have a good mind to, but that would probably make this mess even worse."

McManus couldn't disagree with the latter of the statement. He was certain anyone else would mishandle Miguel's predicament. They wouldn't care like he did.

"You're going to tell me everything, though. Now."

Tim nodded. He was lucky not to be suspended. And even luckier to have a boss who wasn't a hothead. After relaying the facts, including Rebadow's observations and Miguel's claim in the infirmary, he awaited the warden's response.

"Armstrong and Lopresti huh?" Glenn frowned.

"We should question them," McManus suggested.

"Especially Lopresti. He's the one who threw Miguel in the hole twice. He pitched a fit when I brought him back to Em City. I'm feeling like he might have an ax to grind."

"Well Alvarez does have a habit of attacking people with knives. COs and inmates alike if I recall."

Officer Rivera. Carlos Ricardo. Jorge Vasquez. He'd even cut his own face up at once.

"He's made mistakes yes but he's turning around. That's the whole point of being here right? Rehabilitation. I'm trying to help him. We need to get those COs in here and get to the bottom of this."

"You let me worry about what needs to be done, okay. This is still my prison. Don't think just because I haven't suspended you means you're in the clear," the warden reprimanded.

"Your little stunt could have cost all of us. Not just you, not just Em City-the entire facility. There's a reason we have protocal."

Again, he couldn't disagree but the circumstances had warranted a different approach.

"I'm aware of that," he admitted. "But at the end of the day we're here to help these men. That's what I was doing for Alvarez."

The warden didn't even try to hide the sneer on his face.

"Alvarez."

He rose from his desk then, reminding McManus of times when he'd used the same tactic to demonstrate his authority with inmates.

"Of all the pet projects to have, you choose him?"

"He's not a pet, Leo, he's a human being who needs a hand. Miguel didn't ask for the parents he was born to. He didn't ask to grow up in the slums-"

"Oh spare me the white guilt lecture, McManus, I know his history!" Glenn cut him off.

"It's the same story with everyone who comes through those damn gates. Bad environment, product of their upbringing. But Alvarez? He blinded a CO, he killed an inmate, he escaped. He's a nut job, unredeemable."

That statement had Tim on his feet.

"All men are redeemable if they choose to change. Miguel is trying, can't you see that?"

"Sure, by attacking inmates and brandishing knives. AGAIN."

"I told you it's because of the rape. He's afraid, Leo!"

"Yea well maybe this is karma's way of paying the piper."

The room fell silent as that statement hung in the air. It wasn't just the words but the attitude behind them. The affirmation that his fair and impartial boss not only felt no pity, no empathy for the young inmate but actually thought he deserved it. McManus stared, disbelieving what he'd just heard him say.

"Tell me you didn't just imply that Miguel's rape was some sort of karmic retribution," he remarked beyond offended.

No one deserved to be raped.

The warden sent a level glare back at him, unapologetic. He wasn't thinking as a warden, Tim realized, but as a father.

"Miguel didn't rape your daughter, Leo."

But some Latino had and foolishly Miguel had teased him with the information that he knew the culprit. For that offense he would always be on Glenn's shit list.

"I'll talk to Lopresti and Armstrong, get this straightened out," his boss was ignoring his last remark.

"If they're guilty, I'll fire them. If not then the matter is closed."

"But what about my investigation?"

"If nobody's talked yet then nobody will. Best allocate resources elsewhere. Like that drug problem in your unit. How are they getting it in?"

Wait, was he brushing this off? Pushing it under the rug?

"A man was raped. We can't just let that go."

The warden didn't speak another word, but his expression gave his answer. He didn't give two shits about finding Miguel's rapist.

"I refuse to let it go," McManus proclaimed.

He would fight for Miguel. The man deserved justice.

"Then you're suspended, effective immediately."

What?!

"That's bullshit! Leo, you can't do that!"

"You violated protocol after an inmate was assaulted, showed favortism toward said inmate and put officer's lives in danger with your little secret investigation. By right I could fire you, Tim."

"This isn't about protocol and you know it. It's about Alvarez and how you still hate him!"

"You're damn right I hate that peice of shit! But that doesn't change the fact that you broke the rules. I have every right to reprimand you for that."

Okay, fine. Two could play at that game.

"And what about you? What rules are you breaking by ignoring what happened? I wonder what the board would think of a warden who covers up an inmate's rape."

Glenn didn't react the way he'd hoped. Instead of giving the threat any thought, he shot the manager a knowing look.

"In order for that to happen word would have to get out that the inmate was raped. Isn't that what you've been trying to avoid with this whole mess in the first place?"

Goddamnit, he was right. Everything Tim had done had been to keep Miguel's secret. If he outted Glenn then he'd out Miguel. And the poor kid would be devoured by the wolves. He remembered that expression back in the infirmary. The total lack of sanity there. Alvarez would end up in the psych ward for sure!

_Or worse. He could end up like Schibetta. Broken._

The thought of that-of seeing the spirited Latino shattered and immasculated was enough to focus the fight in McManus. This wasn't over. He would find who'd done this without Leo's help.

"You know what, I misjudged you," he spat at the warden.

"I used to think you were above this type of petty vendetta shit. I guess I was wrong."

Glenn merely gestured for him to leave the office.

"A week, McManus. That should be enough time for you to cool off."

The warden sat back down then, effectively dismissing him with the action.

* * *

"McManus is _what_?"

Several inmates crowded around Rebadow as he delivered the news. Word was quickly spreading after the unit manager had huffed back to his office to grab a few things before storming out. Miguel had been at his work assignment and missed the show.

"He's suspended, the warden put Murphy in charge until he gets back. A week I believe."

Miguel couldn't stop himself from cursing out loud.

"Fuck!"

Idiot or not, McManus had tried to have his back. He'd dragged him out of the hole twice now. With the head hack gone he would be at LoPresti's mercy. The bastard would have him back in the hole by lunch!

Keller gave him an amused look for his reaction.

"Anybody know why?" Beecher asked curiously.

Rebadow shrugged.

"Something to do with the riot."

That had Miguel's ears buzzing. Yea it had to do with the riot alright. Him being made somebody's bitch during the riot. The old man's answer was just a little too close to home.

_Nobody else knows._

Except Rebadow was the witness McManus had spoken about. He was one hundred percent sure now. Unfortunately he'd had yet to get him alone to question him. He wouldn't do it with an audience.

"Murphy's in charge?" O'Reily had walked up to the crowd, his 'tard brother behind him.

The last fucking voice Miguel needed to hear.

"For the whole week, yes," Rebadow repeated as if he wasn't sealing Miguel's fate with those words.

"Hmm," was all the mick said before pushing his brother back toward their cell.

"Come on Cyril. Let's go take a nap."

"Ryan, I'm not sleepy."

"Come on!"

Miguel glanced at him and briefly their eyes met. Something sparkled and he shifted to a glare. Shit, O'Reily was up to something.

He didn't need this. Not now. Not with McManus gone.

_Murphy's on my side. He won't let them throw me back in there. He's okay._

But he wasn't as soft as McManus. The office yesterday was proof of that. If Lopresti tried to shake him again would Murphy allow it?

_Fuck!_

Whatever else was said didn't reach Miguel's ears as his life played before his eyes. Being thrown back in the hole, fucked up the ass for the rest of his bid. Naked and alone... except when his ass was being plundered by LoPresti. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Miguel spent the rest of the day in his own head, phantom hands touching him, causing him to jump every so often. He could feel Lopresti eyes on him, oogling him, waiting to take him. He didn't even register that the hack wasn't anywhere near. He could still feel him. Feel that harsh rug burn in his asshole.

People were speaking to him at some point or another but he didn't register that either. If he spoke back he was unaware. Nothing was real anymore except those hands touching him, groping him, bending him over. Turning him into the unit's biggest _maricon_. He wasn't no fucking _maricon_!

Once again his mental state kept him less aware of his surroundings. Which made it easier for a foot to slide out in front of him, effectively tripping him in the cafeteria. Miguel's tray flew upward while the rest of him crashed down. It was the hard, jarring collision with the tiles that brought him back to reality.

"Would you look at that," he spotted Joey D'Angelo chuckling at the closest table.

The Sicilians were all seated, cackling at his fall. Peter was still in the lunch line with Pancamo he knew. Ever since yesterday they were attached whenever not in their pods.

Miguel was up on his feet ready to tear into the cocky dago when he remembered Lopresti. The hole. _His_ hole.

"What?" Joey taunted, standing up.

"With McManus gone you scared now? Shit, I knew you were sucking his dick."

Loud enough for everyone to hear. People were looking now, some laughing. Even the hacks were smirking.

_They think I'm a maricon. I ain't no fucking maricon!_

Something snapped in him then and Miguel dived onto his Italian enemy. Joey had been itching for this and let his fists fly. The two grappled, trying their best to tear each other apart until the hacks saw fit to end the brawl.

"Alvarez, again? You must really like the hole," that same fuck from the other night laughed.

The one who'd started this shit in the first place.

Miguel lost it at those words.

"Fuck you. I ain't going back!" he screamed, "I ain't going back!"

He launched into a full attack. Anyone touching him, coming near him, attempting to subdue him was going down. He would never go. They'd have to kill him first. A few more hacks came at him and he charged at them too. The batons started swinging and it wasn't too long until he was on the floor taking hit after hit.

"No, stop! He's already down!"

"Can it Schibetta or you're next!"

The assault continued, only ending when Miguel could no longer stand. That didn't matter as the hacks began to drag him from the cafeteria.

"I ain't going," he still tried to fight.

"I ain't going back there!"

Through puffy eyes he spotted a frantic Schibetta trying to come after him. Pancamo quickly shoved him backward behind his hulking frame.

Miguel wanted to scream at him for putting his hands on his _familia._ But his words were jumbled now.

"I ain't going back!" it was more like a plea now.

"I ain't going back!"


	15. Not Alone

"The fuck is your problem, Petey?"

Pancamo shoved him backward, causing him to hit the concrete wall. Joey was wiping his bloody lip and glaring.

"I told you Chucky. He's gone full on fag for that spic!"

Peter felt his anger grow at that remark.

"Don't fucking talk about him like that!"

They were still in the cafeteria, Miguel having just been dragged out. The crowd hadn't quite dispersed after the action.

"Pancamo, Schibetta you want to join Alvarez in the hole?" one of the hacks barked, coming closer.

Pancamo raised his hands to show no threat.

"We're cool," he remarked, his eyes on the younger inmate.

But Peter wasn't cool. He wouldn't be cool as long as Miguel was away. He'd just gotten him back for fuck's sake. Without him the world started to darken.

"The fuck we are!" Peter spat.

He was livid. At Chucky for not protecting his _familia_ , at Joey for starting shit with his _familia_ , at the guards for taking his _familia_ away. He wanted to act out, to hit something-someone-anything to lash out. His eyes landed on Joey, the cause of this debacle and he lunged.

"Pe-!"

He'd caught him by surprise, but D'Angelo was a street brawler. After the first hit he caught Peter and slammed him down on the table. Surprisingly he didn't hit him, instead he kept him pinned on his back until the hacks were pulling them apart.

"Okay Schibetta, the hole for you!"

He was happy to take the hole. It was better than being out here with the bikers and the homeboys and the Nazis. He could face a pissy cell, he could face the cold. What he couldn't face was Em City without his _familia_.

"Stand back Pancamo, unless you want to join him!"

Peter didn't fight the hacks as they manhandled him, yanking him by his shoulders out of the cafeteria. His mind stayed in one place, on one person. Miguel Alvarez. They didn't need to strip him down, he complied with every order and was marched down the hall toward the pit in which he'd chosen to wallow as he waited for his _familia's_ return. On the way he could hear him, in another cell, screaming in Spanish.

"Miguel?"

He wanted to run to the door. The hack behind him gave him a shove.

"Move it Schibetta!"

But he'd done what he'd intended. He'd let Miguel know that he was here. That he wasn't alone. He would never leave him alone.

"Schibetta?" Miguel's voice was shaky. Unstable.

"Aww isn't that cute, he's calling for his boyfriend," the hack sneered.

He opened the door, didn't bother to instruct Peter to enter, opting to push the young Sicilian inside. Peter stumbled but didn't fall.

"Watch it!" he griped, not really angry at the guard but just so that Miguel could hear his voice.

The door slammed in his face and the hacks were on their way.

* * *

Murphy was stuck. When Tim had gotten himself suspended his duties had been dumped on him. Despite his involvement with Tim's indiscretion. Warden Glenn knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that Murphy would follow orders, whether he agreed or disagreed. And he knew that it would piss Tim off to see his best friend doing so.

Of course Murphy still accepted the responsibility. It was only a week. Not like he was accepting the position. Besides, it kept him in a decent spot to monitor the Alvarez situation. No one looking over his shoulder...except when he got word that once again Alvarez was involved in a fight and his boss decided to show up on unit.

"Alvarez," the warden ordered, "When he comes out of the hole I want him in solitary."

It wasn't often that his boss showed up and made demands on particular inmates. Especially when the offense was mere brawling-no weapons involved.

"Sir?" Murphy couldn't hide his confusion.

"He's a menace to the unit," Glenn remarked.

"Been in a fight almost everyday since the riot, am I right?"

Murphy had to nod.

"Yea but-"

"I don't want you pulling that McManus shit either," his boss cut him off.

"Alvarez has gotten away with far too much. This is a prison for godsake not a daycare."

Murphy wasn't one to rock the boat. He came in, did his job and went home. But he did have ethics. He did have a conscience.

"Tim told you what happened to him right?"

The warden merely scoffed.

"I was the one that found him. It was pretty obvious what was done to him. Now I'm the last one to coddle these guys but that kid is seriously messed up right now. We throw him in solitary and he's liable to take his own life."

Instead of responding, his boss stepped over to the glass window, overlooking the inmates below. He turned to it as if this were his own office instead of McManus's.

"Murphy, you've been in corrections for some time, right?"

He nodded behind the warden's back.

"Damn near twenty years."

"Long enough to have seen some real shit," Glenn remarked.

Again the CO nodded.

"I've seen my share, yea."

"Then tell me, because I'd really like to know. What is so special about Miguel Alvarez? As far as I can tell he's alright. Nothing like Schibetta or some of the other guys who take it up the ass in here. McManus even said there were no stitches. So why risk your jobs for him? Why risk your careers? For _him?_ "

Murphy wasn't sure if those last questions were _actually_ questions or threats. He answered honestly anyway.

"I'm just trying to do the right thing is all. I'd do it for anybody in the same circumstance."

Something downstairs seemed to catch the warden's interest.

"You sure you're not just vouching for McManus?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're a good officer, Murphy. By all accounts you come in, lay down the law, don't play with these assholes. I know McManus put you up to this Alvarez fiasco but what I don't know is why. Why is he so obsessed with him?"

He wouldn't call it obsession. Not out loud anyway but Tim had taken a huge risk for the kid.

"You know Tim. Social justice warrior. Wants to change the world. Next week it'll be Omar White or Chico Guerra."

Warden Glenn chuckled at that.

"Always gotta be the great white savior," he agreed.

Murphy felt himself bristle, having heard that exact phrasing before.

"You talked to Lopresti," he noted.

Whatever the warden was watching must have lost his interest.

"And Armstrong. Both swear they weren't anywhere near the laundry room during the riot. I didn't mention the rape. Just that Alvarez had been attacked. But they had some interesting things to say about McManus's behavior toward Alvarez."

He turned to face Murphy again.

"Have you noticed anything inappropriate between the two?"

Inappropriate? Like how? Some could argue that his whole handling of the Alvarez case was inappropriate. It depended on the motives of the evaluator.

"What do you mean?"

Glenn gave him a look. He caught on and was immediately disgusted.

"What? That's just sick! You know Tim would never!"

Even if he were into men, he wouldn't abuse an inmate.

"It wouldn't be the first time an officer has had unethical relations with a prisoner."

"But this is McManus! You know him better than that."

He couldn't believe of all the allegations against his friend this would come up. It was total and utter bullshit.

"I know we've had a female staff member and a prisoner complain about him before. Regardless of my personal feelings, I have to look into it. As the warden it's my job."

Sean had always tried to be calm but it was Irish blood running through his veins and this was his best friend being railroaded. There was no way Glen couldn't see what was happening.

"You know as well as I do that's all bullshit! Tim never touched Wangler. And Howell? She's a real life Glenn Close. She attacked Tim in his office!"

"His word against hers, Murphy. And let's not pretend McManus is a choirboy. He sniffs up every skirt that enters this prison. Now I let it slide because he does good work but it's becoming a liability. If anything is going on with Alvarez, that's it. He's gone."

Sean was shaking his head, reigning in his temper. This was his boss after all. It wouldn't help Tim if they both lost their jobs.

"With all due respect, you know nothing is going on. This is Tim we're talking about."

The warden nodded his acknowledgment.

"What I know is that Tim made quite the messy bed here. You just need to be sure not to lie in it with him."

He turned to leave the office, finished with his business.

"What about Alvarez? If what Tim suspected is true then he doesn't belong in solitary," Murphy pushed.

Why he didn't know. Maybe his friend was rubbing off on him. Warden Glenn paused.

"Am I going to have to worry about you too, Murphy?"

His tone was more like a resigned grumble.

"I'm not Tim if that's what you mean. I'm nobody's savior. But I don't want any bodies on my watch. And as much as you hate Alvarez, I know you don't either."

Glenn seemed to consider his words.

"Who needs the paperwork, right?" Sean threw in, hoping to convince him.

It was clear the humanitarian route wouldn't work when it came to Alvarez. Maybe self-interest might. He remained silent, giving his boss the chance to mull it over.

"Fine, I'll bite. But this stays off the books. You figure it out and come straight to me with your findings, got it?"

Murphy managed to keep his smile under wraps as he nodded.

"Sure thing."

"And it's resolved by the time McManus comes back. If not then it's over. Alvarez goes in solitary and we move on."

Again he nodded.

"I'm on it."

Glenn left him then and Sean took a moment to absorb the weight of the task he'd just taken on. He'd just volunteered to single-handedly do in one week what Tim hadn't been able to finish. Find a crooked, possible rapist CO, save his best friend's job, keep an unhinged inmate from offing himself and convince the warden that Miguel Alvarez was worth sparing. What had he gotten himself into? The things he did for his friends.

"Damnit Tim!"

* * *

"We need to cool it for a while," Armstrong whispered as he escorted Ryan O'Reily to the gym.

"Warden just questioned us about the riot."

The inmate rolled his eyes.

"So, what? You didn't say shit, did you?"

He glared at the question.

"Of course I didn't. What do I look like?"

O'Reily smirked.

"You want me to answer that?" he quipped.

Smartass.

"Hey, I'm not the one in the cell, you dumbfuck. Don't forget where you are."

O'Reily scowled but didn't say anything. Good.

"We need to keep a low profile til this shit dies down. Til the warden finds another tree to bark up."

Which meant no tits coming in through him.

"And what am I supposed to tell my customers, huh? That my supplier lost his balls?" O'Reily snapped.

They made it to the doorway and the inmate paused to look him in the eye.

"I got a business to run. Demand doesn't stop just because one guy pussies out."

Fucking arrogant prick. He was the one behind bars and still felt like he was running shit.

"Look, I don't give a fuck about your business. You fall, some other schmuck will pick up and sell that shit. But as long as the warden is sniffing around, I'm out. Got it?"

He wanted to belt him, one good shot would knock that cocky glare off his face. If not for Glenn's questioning earlier, he might have done it. But a beat-up prisoner on his watch after the Alvarez interrogation would only draw attention that he didn't need.

As he matched the Irishman's glare, the CO felt heavy resentment building in his chest. This was all O'Reily's fault. If not for him and his "business venture" he wouldn't be tied up in two potentially career (and freedom)-ending incidents. The drug smuggling of course was the biggest issue but hopefully his stepping back would keep his nose clean. O'Reily could find someone else or go fuck himself for all he cared. But it was the other incident, the one he'd been dragged into by a nosy inmate who'd happened to witness his and O'Reily's interaction, that had him unnerved.

Glenn knew that Alvarez was attacked. He hadn't said _rape_ but he had to know. The warden never got involved in routine inmate assaults. The fact that he was asking, the fact that Glenn had questioned both he and Lopresti was the reddest of flags. Both were working on the unit when it had happened. Both had been on the ground floor thus placing them within range of the laundryroom during the riot. Near the scene of the crime.

_Yea but only one of us was actually there when it happened._

He wasn't sure where Lopresti had run off to, probably to take a piss. Which meant he alone would be the one to go down if the truth was found out.

"Pussy," O'Reily spat before stalking off into the gym.

Armstrong glowered after him, willing himself from whopping the inmate in the back of the head with his club. He never should've gotten in bed with a dog. Now he was in danger of catching his fleas.


	16. Danger Looming

Joey D'angelo sat on his leader's mattress, his face a serious scowl as his Sicilian brothers filed into the pod. Pancamo stood over them, one leg propped on the chair by his bed and a bit worked up himself over the incident in the cafeteria. The second Seggio shut the door, Joey blurted his concern.

"Alvarez has to go. He's screwing with Petey's head and we all know Petey's head has been fucked since Adebisi anyway. Motherfucker has to die!"

Pancamo appeared thoughtful before nodding.

"That shit at lunch was too far," he agreed.

"Schibetta's lost his mind. Again."

Finally, Chucky was getting it.

"I'll do it," Joey was eager to volunteer.

He'd wanted to airhole that spic ever since he'd first compromised his _pisan_. Taking advantage of a clearly weakened mind. It was like fucking with a retard. Petey was no better than O'Reily's brother at this point!

_Nino would roll over in his grave if he saw this shit._

If he saw what had become of his son-of the Schibetta name here in Oz. Joey had to admit, he was taking the disgrace very personally. Nino had been like a second father to him, taking him into the business when he'd had nothing. He and Dino, (god bless the Ortolonis) had been like Nino's own blood. The elder Schibetta had shown them love, shown them guidance and when it was called for, he'd set them straight with some tough love. Dino in particular'd had a problem with his temper. On more than one occasion it had gotten him into hot water. But Nino had always made him lie in his own bed. Face the consequences. Man the fuck up. Which was exactly what Peter needed right now.

But after today it was clear that Petey wasn't up for the task. Not like he was before, in the old days running after Dino and Joey wanting to be a tough guy too. He'd never been a true brawler the way they were (nobody could out-box Dino) but then again he'd never really had to be, given who his father was. Nino hadn't allowed him into the grittier part of the business, letting him handle the money laundering and minor drug affairs. But the hardcore shit? The wetworks? He'd left that to Dino.

Joey remembered Petey bitching about it once, insisting he was every bit the man that his father saw in Dino. Well Adebisi had proven that not to be the case. Now Petey would never be a man again.

At least not as long as Alvarez was around. If Joey was going to look out for his _pisan,_ keep him from becoming the Em City cum dump then something had to be done.

"You just busted him up in front of everybody, Joey. He ends up dead who do you think they'll look to first?" Don reminded him.

He didn't give a fuck.

"They can look all they want but who's going to jabber?"

Don didn't respond. Chucky did.

"He's right. You're too hot right now. If we waste Alvarez we make sure you have the tightest alibi."

Okay, he could work with that. As long as he got to do the deed.

"Cool, you guys can vouch for me-"

"Don't be stupid, we ain't credible in the eyes of the hacks," Chucky cut him off.

"Especially after what went down at lunch. We need somebody the hacks will trust. Who got no reason to back us up."

That was actually a good idea.

"Who the fuck would the hacks trust in here?" Seggio scoffed.

There was silence as the mobsters thought about it.

"Beecher is pretty clean," Donny suggested.

"Plus, don't he owe us for Schilinger's kid?"

Chucky nodded.

"Yea but we need to keep our distance from him. I swore nobody would know his connection to that."

Joey glanced out the pod and into the unit. He spotted a few homeboys but knew not to consider them. Those moolie fucks weren't to be trusted.

"Morales got no love for Alvarez," Seggio noted.

"But I doubt the spics would back us over one of theirs. Even if they dropped him."

Chucky seemed to agree.

"Yea, plus we got business with him. Don't want to fuck that up on account of Alvarez."

He folded his arms, looking thoughtful.

Joey spotted O'Reily reentering the unit with a pissed off look. The hack behind him didn't look any better. Well he was definitely not an option.

"What about those old fucks, Rebadow and Busmalis?" Donny suggested.

Bingo.

The group of Sicilians watched Busmalis leaving the laundry room as they spoke.

"Him," Joey agreed, pointing with his chin.

"He's easier to spook."

Not to mention more sane. He didn't walk around professing a direct line to God like the other one did. It was a wonder the old prune wasn't in the psych ward where Peter had been.

"All right," Chucky concluded, "It's settled. When he gets outta the hole, Alvarez is done."

Joey couldn't be more pleased.

* * *

Miguel lie on the floor, clasping to the distant voice of his _familia._ He'd been talkative the entire time, making random statements about any and everything that came to his mind apparently. Not that Miguel was complaining, he found comfort in it. In just the sound of his voice. The hacks had yelled for them to shut up a long time ago but after a few minutes they were gone back to doing whatever the fuck they did and the two inmates were calling out to each other again..

It wasn't normal conversation. Instead Peter would blurt out that he hated instant mashed potatoes. That he'd never been to a moolie barber. That he hated wearing sunscreen. Miguel, playing along adding that he never liked Oatmeal and that he missed the rain. Peter missed the rain too.

They went on until Miguel calmed, until their voices grew hoarse-Miguel's first on account of his scene in the cafeteria.

Hours melded together and neither knew whether it was still day or night. Mealtimes were the only indicator that time was actually passing. Miguel refused his food. He wouldn't take a bite or drink an ounce as long as he was here alone and naked.

_I'm not alone. I got Schibetta._

His _familia._

He turned on his side, facing the doorway. Who would have guessed after all he'd been through, the shankings, the riot, El Cid, and Glenn that a Sicilian would be the one person to actually give a fuck? The same Sicilian he'd once helped Adebisi poison in a failed attempt at an alliance.

Shit. He'd forgotten about that.

Compared to the other things Oz had driven him to do, it had paled in comparison. At least Peter had walked away with his life...with his eyes.

_Don't think about that!_

Forcing the thoughts, the image of blood and Rivera's screams back, Miguel clutched his head and groaned. He would focus on the present, like Sister Pete had said. He couldn't change the past.

Unfortunately the present saw him cold and naked in the hole. On display for Lopresti or any other hack who wanted a piece of his ass.

They wouldn't have it this time.

He would listen out, stay awake all night if he had to. Nobody would be coming in to touch him tonight.

"Fucking broccoli gives me gas," his _familia_ blurted from outside.

_They better not touch Schibetta either._

"Brussel sprouts are little green shits!"

Miguel would hear if someone opened these loud ass doors even if it was down the way. If Peter needed him, he would be ready to beat down his door, scream his fucking head off, call all types of attention to the place so that rapist fuck LoPresti wouldn't have the chance to touch his friend.

He would protect him.

That conscious thought resonated with the young Latino suddenly and he sat up. Schibetta was his to protect. From Lopresti, from the bikers, from the Nazis and the Homeboys. From El Norte. And if the Sicilians ever turned on him, from them too.

_Schibetta is mine to protect..._

* * *

Len Lopresti stabbed into his lunch, a microwaved meal he'd grabbed without thinking that morning. It was simple; some chicken and mashed potatoes with corn, a poor excuse for a brownie wrapped in plastic. Nothing to rave about but it would get him through the day in this hellhole. The shift was half over at least.

He sat across from fellow officers, Hinds and Ferguson as they discussed their boring home lives. Hinds's wife was nagging him about a new sofa. Ferguson's kid was failing English. Lopresti was praying if his life ever got that dull he'd be put out of his misery by one of the useless shits in B block.

He was contemplating doing just that with his fork when Sean Murphy entered the breakroom. Their eyes met and he instantly knew some bullshit was about to occur.

 _This is about fucking McManus. About what I told_ _Glenn_.

"Lopresti, a word?"

Even Rivera would see the tension were he still here. The other officers certainly seemed to and quietly excused themselves. Murphy took a seat in the vacated spot directly across from him, his eyes level. Len waited for the other man to speak first.

"We've been working together long enough for you to know I'm not the type to beat around the bush. So I'm just going to ask you flat out. What the fuck did you say to Glenn about Tim and Alvarez?"

_Here we go._

"I told him the truth, that McManus is giving him too much leeway and maybe it needs to be looked into."

He'd implied more than that. The words "inappropriate" and "special attention" may have been used. Murphy saw right through him.

"Don't bullshit me here. I know we may not always agree with Tim's methods but you know damn well there is nothing going on with him and Alvarez!"

Did he? McManus was showing him an awful lot of attention lately. Overriding disciplinary actions. Undermining other officers' authority for him.

"What I know is that I caught the same sick animal that gouged another COs eyes out with a knife the other day and McManus snatched him right out of the hole. He sent him back to work detail-in the same fucking infirmary where he got the damn knife! And that's after he yanked him out of the hole for fighting Hoyt before that. So you tell me what I'm supposed to report to the warden when he asks me about Miguel Alvarez."

He had to have some kind of arrangement with McManus to be protected like that. Sure the unit manager was a panty waist but even he wouldn't be that delusional. There was a reason behind it and Lopresti needed to know what it was.

Had Alvarez seen him during the riot? Witnessed his deal with Burns? Did he know about his connection to the brotherhood? And was he feeding that intel to McManus?

"Come on, Tim is the same guy who came back to Em City after being shot in the riot and gave those fuck-ups a council. He forgave Omar White for stabbing him. You have to do better than that," Murphy remarked.

Lopresti took a bite of his chicken, making sure to chew it slowly as an act of bravado. He wasn't intimidated. Murphy saw the challenge and sat back.

"You want to know what I think?" the older CO asked quietly.

"I think Tim asked one too many questions about you and the riot. It got you rattled. And seeing how Glenn feels about Alvarez anyway this was your perfect opportunity to shut it all down."

_He's just speculating. He doesn't know._

"I think Tim was on to something. And you think so too otherwise you wouldn't have tried to get rid of him with your bullshit allegation. But your mistake is you underestimate how well some of us know him. And how hard some of us would fight to clear his name."

Irish bastard. He could be a problem. Lopresti swallowed his food before speaking again.

"You should watch yourself before making baseless accusations."

"Funny, I was going to say the same to you."

He clenched the fork in his hand.

"I got a unit full of guards that can back up my concerns. We all see how McManus has been with Alvarez these past couple of days."

"Too bad none of them saw where you were during the riot," Murphy remarked.

_He doesn't know. He's just bluffing._

Even still, this conversation needed to end now along with any curiosity from McManus's butt buddy. And Lopresti knew just how to do it.

He wasn't the only one in the room with something to hide, after all.

"You know, Murphy, if I were you I wouldn't be trying to dig too deep. Officers with Sicilians in their glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

He recalled yesterday, seeing the head CO coming out of the old storage room with a flush faced Peter Schibetta. Now what could they have been doing alone in there?

Murphy had the nerve to look confused.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Oh he was going for denial was he?

"Look, I'm not one to judge. You want to smuggle shit in, peddle drugs, sample some jailhouse pussy that's your business. We all got our vices. So maybe I forget what I saw yesterday, and you forget whatever goose McManus has you chasing."

The look he received from that warning wasn't what he was expecting. Murphy was supposed to be concerned, nervous even that his secret-whatever he'd been doing with Schibetta-had been discovered. Instead there was incredulity. Disbelief.

"You're joking, right? Tell me you're joking."

Lopresti wasn't. He knew what he'd seen.

"You're trying to blackmail me? Over Schibetta?"

Murphy's look of disgust was giving him second thoughts.

"I saw you two-"

"What? Coming out of a fucking room? What do you think we were doing?"

He honestly wasn't sure but it couldn't have been too kosher. COs didn't disappear in closets with inmates. Except maybe McManus. He'd revamped it for that annoying ass White after all.

"That's between you two. And maybe Glenn if you-"

Murphy was on his feet, his face a mask of revulsion.

"Is that what you were doing during the riot? Sampling prisoners?"

What?!

"You calling me a fag?"

Even if he was-which he wasn't-he'd sooner cut off his dick than stick it in any of these crazy fucks.

"I'm calling you a liar. And a bad CO. Can you even account for your whereabouts during the riot?"

Who the fuck did Murphy think he was, coming at him like this? Before he knew it, Lopresti was on his feet as well.

"Hey, I do my job! Ask anybody who they'd want on the floor with them if these fucks get out of line," he defended himself.

"Because that worked out so well during the riot," Murphy remarked smartly.

Lopresti had no retort other than the urge to pop him one good in the jaw. But what good would that do? He'd be suspended, possibly lose his job. And the Brotherhood would have to recruit another CO to their cause. It just wasn't worth it.

"You stay out of my way, Murphy. And I'll stay out of yours."

With that he went back to his lunch, ignoring the man still standing before him. For a moment it looked like Murphy wouldn't leave, his glare cutting through the younger CO with a righteous conviction.

Just when Lopresti decided enough was enough, that Murphy was about to be wearing microwaved chicken on his face, Sister Pete's arrival cut into the tension.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

Despite their animosity, both men dialed it down.

Even the baddest of men behaved in front of the sister.

"No, we're fine," Murphy forced out before turning to leave.

Lopresti watched his exit in silence, mentally making a note.

He would have to be a lot more careful with Murphy on his back.

* * *

"Just slip into his cell, slice the guinea fag and be done with it. It won't be the first time an inmate bit it in the hole. Hell not even the first wop."

It was late afternoon, the plan in motion. Work detail was finished leaving the inmates to their own devices. The two sat in the computer room, appearing to be utilizing the PCs.

"And how would you know? You weren't here for Ortoloni or Schilinger's son," his subordinate laughed.

The leader gave him an amused look in reply.

"I watch. I listen. I know more than you think. Like which hack has a gambling debt and desperately needs money. Or which hack is so far up O'Reily's ass he shits Lucky Charms."

The two inmates smirked just as CO Smith approached.

"Or which hack is just a greedy motherfucker looking to waste a a spaghetti eating whiteboy."

Smith stood in the doorway, not humored by his assessment.

"You got my money, _hombre_?"

"You do what I need and I got plenty more."

"Good."

The hack folded his arms, to appear authoritative rather than conversational. For roaming eyes of course.

"It looks like a suicide, _comprende_?" the gang leader cautioned.

His subordinate nodded.

"Guinea _maricon_ couldn't hack it outside psych. Slits his own throat. Got it."

Pleased, he nodded to his lieutenant.

"It goes down tonight. In the hole. No witnesses. No dramatics. No fucking this up, Chico."

"No fucking up," Guerra agreed, happy to stick it to Alvarez in any way he could..

"Alvarez's bitch dies tonight."


	17. His to Protect

"COUNT!"

Despite McManus's absence, Em City went on like normal. The Aryans taunted the muslims. The Homeboys harassed the gays. Miss Saily's show came and went with an enthusiastic male response. Between keeping his brother in line Ryan O'Reily kept his eyes on the head CO, still trying to figure out his game. Twice that day Murphy pulled someone aside for what he suspected to be a private interrogation. To the untrained eye it was just a hack giving a warning or taking them to general appointments like Sister Pete or Dr. Nathan. But O'Reily knew what to look for. The brief moment of confusion as Murphy approached followed by the resigned play-off. Nobody wanted to be seen as a rat so they played along. But Ryan knew.

By the time lights went out, however he wasn't any closer to an answer. Still pondering the situation, Ryan stood at the glass watching. Murphy had spoken to Rebadow and Busmalis-both pretty clean when it came to running schemes-and was now up in McManus's office with the blinds closed.

What the hell was he playing at?

"Ryan?"

Cyril was sitting up in bed, not even remotely ready for sleep. He glanced back at his brother.

"What?"

"Did you have a bad dream?"

Ryan shook his head. He was used to his brother's nonsensical questions so he barely paid him any mind.

"No."

Murphy's shift should have ended already.

"Then how come you don't want to go to sleep?"

"I will."

"But you're not in the bed."

"Go to sleep, Cyril."

Alvarez was still in the hole. Murphy hadn't gotten him out this time. Maybe he was trying to save face.

"When I have bad dreams you give me hugs, Ryan. I can give you hugs too if-"

"Sleep Cyril," he repeated. "Now."

It couldn't be drugs. Alvarez already worked in the infirmary and stole whatever he needed. And if he was selling it again, Ryan would know. Favors then? If so what kind?

The Aryans had Lopresti to cover for their fuckery. He'd had Howell for pretty much the same purpose (pussy was a bonus.) Now he had Armstrong for his business enterprise. So what did Alvarez have Murphy for?

"But I'm not sleepy."

And how was he paying him in return? Maybe with information? About the riot? About who he saw doing what during that riot? That would explain the interrogation Armstrong had his panties in a twist about.

So what had Alvarez seen? Well that depended on where he was during the riot. Before and after.

_Didn't I see him carrying a bag of laundry before shit went down?_

Ryan let his eyes travel down from his own second floor pod to the dark imprint of the laundryroom. So that was where he'd been. Now to figure out what all he had seen. And what Murphy intended to do with his reports.

* * *

Staying awake was not a difficult task when one was cold and alone and trying to avoid a nonconsensual ass pounding. And especially not hard when he had someone to protect. But staying alert was a different story. Miguel was attempting to keep his mind stimulated by clipping his nails sans clipper. He'd bitten off what he had on each finger but his toes were proving more of a challenge. So far only the big toe was long enough to tear off. The other nails were much thicker. He was regretting the shortening of his fingernails when he heard activity in the hall.

Footsteps, clicking softly on the cement. He immediately straightened up on guard. Where were those steps headed? And who did they belong to?

_Lopresti._

Was he coming to take another peice of him? To get another poke while McManus was away? Anger, fury, something else rose in his throat and Miguel found it difficult to swallow.

_He's a hack. I can't fight a hack. They'll kill me this time. After Rivera..._

He bit his fist, waiting for the bastard to stop before his door. Waiting for the latch to click, for the metal to cringe open, for that gringo son of a bitch to be standing in the open doorway, smiling a wicked smile. He waited, body tense and anxious.

Miguel could hear them as they approached, no words spoken but they were more than one set. He could tell, though how many he couldn't figure. But Lopresti was not alone this time, that much he could tell. Then again had he ever been? Miguel had no way of knowing as he'd been unconscious both times. For all he knew that hack had brought an audience to watch. Or worse...to take turns...

The only thing worse than a dick up the ass was multiple dicks up the ass. And if they all were hacks? Shit, he might as well invest in some lipstick and bend over for the whole fucking unit! There was NO coming back from that!

He tried to stand, to face his attacker head on once he did arrive, but Miguel felt his knees weaken at the thought of multiple hacks pinning him down, having their way like (Schibetta and the Aryans) he was some pussy ass prag to be used. Forcing him to feel their hands on his body, hear their amusement, bear the humiliation as they...

He wanted to throw up, that's what he wanted to do. He wanted to scream and fight and throw up at once. There was no way out of this now. The hacks were coming for him. And either they were going to take his ass, or take his life. Miguel quivered, staring at the door as the steps closed in.

Until they passed him.

He blinked, still on edge but legit surprised. So Lopresti wasn't after him tonight?

The Latino didn't have a chance to feel relief as he heard another door creak open. Then he heard his _familia's_ voice.

"What the fuck is going on? Who's there?"

Schibetta? They were going after Schibetta?!

Something in him actually raged and he threw himself against his door screaming, trying to break through. Schibetta, he had to protect him. He couldn't let those sick raping fucks get to him. Not again!

""LOPRESTI YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

He imagined Peter lying helpless and pale on that cold hard floor. Italian eyes wide in fear as that hack piece of shit leered down at him. Schibetta frozen, unable to move or even defend himself.

"YOU'RE DEAD! YOU TOUCH HIM AND YOU'RE DEAD!"

He continued his rant, even as other prisoners woke and began yelling for him to shutup. He recognized Jaz Hoyt but gave no shits about that biker trash. He just wanted Peter safe. For his _familia_ to be safe.

The harsh slamming of the metal door momentarily paused his tirade but he could not relax. Not when Lopresti was still out there and Peter was still alone. He heard footsteps rushing past, a swift bang to his door as they went.

He yelled out a few more insults in Spanish before he went to check on Peter.

"Schibetta, you good?" he called.

Hoyt cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up you cock sucking-"

"Schibetta?!"

"Shit he's calling his girlfriend!"

Miguel pressed against the door, everything in his body straining to hear. He pushed out the other voices, ignored their banging as he searched for the one that mattered. The one of his _familia._

"M-Miguel?" he sounded shaken.

_"No te preocupes. Yo me ocuparé de ti. No dejaré que te toque. Tu eres la familia."_

And he meant every word of it.

Before long a couple of hacks came by banging on doors and demanding they quiet down. It took a while but eventually everyone settled. When he didn't hear Lopresti, Miguel too lowered his voice. With the ruckus he'd risen no way the pig would make another attempt tonight. For the moment Schibetta was in the clear.

But Miguel wouldn't delude himself. There would still be tomorrow and the night after that. And the night after that too. Twenty years of tomorrows...

* * *

For the first time since his return to Em City, Peter didn't dream of Adebisi. He didn't dream of the Aryans pinning him down and laughing. He dreamed of his _familia_.

_Miguel is holding him. Just holding him close. And talking quietly in that language of his that he seems to use when he's upset. But in this dream he is far from upset. He is calm, protective. His arms warm and secure around him._

_"Miguel?"_

_They're facing each other. His head in the crook of Alvarez's neck._

_"Familia," Miguel whispers to him._

_He holds him closer, his body heat warm and welcoming._

_"Mi familia."_

_Peter glances up at him, feeling for the first time since his father's death..._ _safe_ _. Cared for._

_Miguel returns the gaze and they wallow in each other's eyes. Miguel's both fierce and brown and soft at the same time. He loves those eyes, so expressive and oh so Latin._ _So full of emotion for him. He can drown in them forever._

_Peter draws closer. Miguel holds his gaze. Then their lips touch and he feels himself releasing a sigh of content._

_"Tu es mi familia."_

Peter jerked awake just as he heard the bolt of his door being unlatched.

_What the fuck was that?_

Confused both by his dream and the noise of metal, he pushed himself up from the fetal position he'd slept in, attempting to shield his erection with his hands.

"The fuck is going on?" he shakily demanded before the door could open.

"Who's there?"

The dream had him unsteady and he hated the lack of base in his tone.

The door began to crack when he heard Miguel's voice yelling from his cell.

"LOPRESTI YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU'RE DEAD! YOU TOUCH HIM AND YOU'RE DEAD!"

Lopresti? What? The door halted before suddenly slamming shut. Now Peter's pulse began to hammer as there was a whispered exchange outside. Two men, though he couldn't make out who they were. Between Miguel's noise and their low hisses all he could make out was a "...move it _hombre_!"

Miguel was banging on his own door now, his threats in Spanish. Despite his alarm, Peter shuddered warmly at the reminder of his dream.

"Shut the fuck up Alvarez!" another prisoner screamed from his cell.

Quick steps scurried away.

"Fucking loudmouth spic!"

That inmate was definitely Jaz Hoyt. It seemed Miguel was waking the whole unit.

Confusion and fear began to battle within the young Sicilian as he tried to grasp what was happening.

Someone had just tried to enter his cell.

He stared at the door.

_Somebody just tried to come in my cell._

Who? Why? What...

_Last time Miguel was here he came back with bloody boxers._

Was this what had happened to his friend? Was a hack coming to rape him too?!

_"Payday baby..."_

Adebisi.

No.

No! No! No!

_"You know I always wondered. Was Adebisi's dick bigger than mine..."_

Schilinger.

Peter stared at the door. His body began to tremble.

_"Little Nino..." Adebisi whispered in his ear._

His skin began to sweat.

 _"Heeey Petey," Schilinger greeted_.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He threw his face in his hands. Not again. Oh god not again! Please God make it go away!

"Alvarez you stupid fuck!" Hoyt was screaming.

 _"...keep your sunny side up..."_ _Schillinger smirked as he left the office._

Peter was barely aware of the hot wetness coming down his face as he crouched in the corner. Dropping his head, he hugged his knees close. He couldn't take this. Not again. He just couldn't!

_Pop, where are you?_

He felt himself slipping, trying to escape this hard and gray place. He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. He didn't want to be weak anymore.

_Pop, please don't leave me._

He just wanted to be safe again. To feel the security he'd felt growing up. With Nino Schibetta as his father no one dared fuck with him. No one dared even glare his way. They'd feared his Pop; they'd feared the Schibetta name.

When his father was around, he was safe.

_Please come back, Pop. Please._

"Schibetta, you good?"

Alvarez.

Of course. He'd kept him safe all this time. From Hoyt. From Maxwell. Even now, separated by concrete and metal he'd run the intruding hack off. He was still looking out for him.

"M-Miguel?"

Remnants of the dream he'd had, of Miguel close and holding him secure...

Spanish words flowed from the other side of the wall. Though he couldn't understand, the last word he made out was " _familia."_

_Miguel never leaves me._

He sniffled, wiped his face with his hand. Fuck, he was crying.

"Go to sleep ya fucking fags!" another inmate yelled.

Peter ignored the directive, pining for his _familia_ instead.

_Miguel keeps me safe._

Even without his Pop around, he could still be safe.

"M-McDonald's is disgusting and overrated," he blurted weakly.

Miguel didn't miss a beat.

"Mustard is better than ketchup," was the instant reply.

He couldn't help it, even through his tears he smiled in relief. He no longer had his father's protection, but he didn't need it anymore. He had another protector in his corner.

_Miguel._

He would always be safe with Miguel.

* * *

Murphy got the call pretty late in the night. His best friend was drunk at the local bar-too intoxicated to drive home. Barely rested himself after staying late to sort things, he went out to collect him. Tim was a mess, blubbering about the system and the governor and mentioning Alvarez's name.

"I can't let him down," Tim was repeating.

"Dino...Kenny...I let them down."

On order to save time and gas, Murphy just brought him back to his own place to crash on the couch. It wasn't the first time Tim had slept over and it probably wouldn't be the last. After tucking him under an extra blanket, he set the bathroom trashcan just within McManus's reach.

"You did the best you could, Tim. Get some rest."

That was his friend, carrying the weight of the underprivileged world on his shoulders. Trying to make a difference one inmate at a time.

"I couldn't save them. I couldn't..."

Murphy sighed, allowing him another incoherent speech until he'd tired himself out. Eventually Tim's eyes closed, his mouth still murmuring about his duty.

"...let him down again...I can't let him down again..."

When he finally drifted off, Murphy shook his head. This job, it was consuming Tim. Eating him alive. His marriage, his relationships...it all came second to Oswald State Correctional Facility. The job had become Tim's world.

He should get out, meet women (who didn't work at Oz because nobody wanted a repeat of Claire Howell), get a hobby of some sort. Find something outside of work to sustain him. But this was Tim McManus. And anyone who knew Tim McManus knew that the likelihood of that happening was zilch. His work was his everything.

And right now everything depended on figuring out this Alvarez case. He'd spoken to Rebadow himself for more details. Busmalis too. And as they'd told Tim, the nearby COs had been Armstrong and Lopresti. He'd had yet to talk to Armstrong but after their conversation in the breakroom Lopresti was definitely hiding something.

He just wasn't too sure if it had anything to do with Miguel's rape or not. There had been something in the CO's eyes when Sean had accused him of sampling the prisoners. The same thing Sean had felt when accused of sampling Schibetta. Not even O'Reily could fake that disgust. Lopresti was dirty, no doubt but he wasn't Miguel's rapist.

That of course didn't rule out his involvement. He wouldn't be the first guard to look the other way as an inmate was attacked. And he did hate Alvarez...

 _Save this shit for tomorrow_.

He would talk to Armstrong and feel him out before making any conclusions. And he would stop by the hole to check on Alvarez too. And maybe by some miracle he could find the answers he needed and save Tim's ass along the way.


End file.
